


this ocean is yours, and mine

by inmyriadbits, rosepetalfall



Series: come home with the rains [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe - Academia, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 63,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmyriadbits/pseuds/inmyriadbits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetalfall/pseuds/rosepetalfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a new year, a new semester. Looking out across the classroom, taking in the bright-eyed students in their winter gear, the crowded desks, the aisles choked with backpacks and bags, Luke can’t help but feel that it’s going to be a good year. </p>
<p>“Welcome to Transformative Journeys: Pilgrimage and Practice in Global Buddhisms,” he says, with a smile. “I’m Professor Amidala-Lars."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to [leupagus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus) first for writing to the sky without wings. And literally this fic would not exist, be formatted so beautifully or be particularly thought through it weren't for the amazing beta-ing trio of [inmyriadbits](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inmyriadbits), [Spatz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatz), and leupagus. They did an unbelievable amount to get this fic into existence, editing, revising and cheerleading, and I am unbelievably grateful.
> 
> Also, I would like to suggest picturing Dak as [Lin-Manuel Miranda](http://cdn.thedailybeast.com/content/dailybeast/articles/2015/09/29/what-made-lin-manuel-miranda-the-625-000-genius-behind-hamilton/jcr:content/image.crop.800.500.jpg/48119646.cached.jpg), in about ten years, and Aditi as the wonderful Bollywood actress [Kajol](https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/517889235290816512/6tvH9_ZO.jpeg), in a couple years from now. Yes, Dak Ralter is an actual Star Wars character in the OT, sadly not played by LMM (he's Luke's ill-fated gunner in the Battle of Hoth) but one of my wonderful betas made the suggestion of Lin-Manuel Miranda and that's who I've been picturing ever since. But of course, death of the author, so feel free to picture everyone exactly as you wish!
> 
> For the notes, either hover over the number to read the footnote content as alt-text, or click through to the read in the chapter end notes (there are return links, so you don't have to worry about losing your place!).

> Best Sellers Book List, Trade Fiction, _The New York Times_ , June 3, 1999.
> 
> **7\. Solar Wind, Arbor Rain** by Luke Skywalker (Endor.)  After rescuing Anjali, a Rebel pilot who crashes near their town, young botanist Maya and her childhood friend Teo find themselves caught up in the fight against the Galactic Empire and the fate of the mysterious Jedi Order. 

* * *

“Lumbini, Bodh Gaya, Sarnath, and Kusinara — these are, arguably, the four most important Buddhist pilgrimage sites of the South Asian subcontinent,” Luke opens his first lecture of spring semester. “Each is associated with a significant event in the life story of the Buddha. Over the course of this class, we’re going to spend some time in all of them — in mind, if not in body.”

It’s a new year, a new semester. Looking out across the classroom, taking in the bright-eyed students in their winter gear, the crowded desks, the aisles choked with backpacks and bags, Luke can’t help but feel that it’s going to be a good year.

“Welcome to Transformative Journeys: Pilgrimage and Practice in Global Buddhisms,” he says, with a smile. “I’m Professor Amidala-Lars, but you can go ahead and just use Professor Amidala — most people do. Before we start, let’s get the logistics out of the way. These two lovely people will be your TAs — Hannah and Lin,” Luke says, gesturing to his waving grad students. “Know them, respect them, and feel free to come to them — and myself — with questions. We’ll be emailing you all a sign-up sheet for discussion sections by the end of the week, so keep an eye out for that. You should all have picked up a copy of the syllabus on your way in, but if not, you can get one on your way out, and it’ll be on the course website. We’ll go over that at the end.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath in, and smiles out at the curious faces. There’s a moment, at the beginning of each first class he’s ever taught, when it sinks in, that this is where he is, standing at the front of the room, opening a gateway.

“Okay, we’re all good? Then let’s begin. And where better to do that than _at_ the beginning, in Lumbini, with the birth of the Buddha?”

* * *

> _Associated Press_ , “Luke Amidala-Lars in Car Crash; Hospitalized,” July 5, 1985.

> “A spokesperson for the Amidala family informed the press that Luke, 17, was pushed off the road by a drunk driver on Wednesday night. Doctors at Polis Massa Medical Center performed an emergency wrist disarticulation amputation. Amidala-Lars is currently in stable condition and expected to make a full recovery.
> 
> Amidala-Lars, along with his twin sister Leia, graduated last month from Theed Preparatory Academy, the school associated with Theed University, where their mother, Padme Amidala, the former Connecticut senator and American ambassador to the U.N., currently serves as dean of the law school.” 

* * *

It’s a Thursday afternoon, two weeks later, when Leia walks into Luke’s office without knocking.

Luke wishes, not for the first time, that the work-study Religion department assistants were more defiant in the face of their healthy fear and respect for his sister and would stop letting her just waltz in regardless of the situation. “You know, sometimes when I’m in here, I’m actually working,” he sighs. “Or I could have been talking to a student.”

“But you’re clearly not,” Leia says, sitting down. “You should come to next week’s job talk.”

“I mean, I could, but why would I?” Luke asks. Luke’s been hearing Leia complain about the history department’s attempt to fill their open position for approximately the last nine months and it has yet to be of any interest to him.

The historical evidence indicates Luke’s going to lose this fight regardless, but he lives in hope. He has a full class load, fieldnotes from the summer still to write up, and zero desire to watch some young Ph.D. wrestle with intense anxiety for a crowd.

“Do you remember Poe Dameron? One of my undergrad advisees, graduated oh, five, six years back, went to Princeton for grad school?”

“No?” Luke says slowly — Leia thinking he’d remember a student of hers from five years ago is unusual, since she typically doesn’t trust him to remember where he’s parked his own car. “You said Dameron?”

“Yeah,” Leia says, impatient. “The astronaut’s son.”

“Oh. The one with all that hair?” Luke asks, frowning, vague memories beginning to come back to him. “He was a fan of the books?” He thinks maybe that was the same kid who’d mentioned also reading Luke’s ethnography of a monastery kitchen in Bodh Gaya, which had seemed like an unlikely choice for a history major.

Leia snorts. “Yeah, that’s the one. He’s the candidate coming next week. So you should come, see what my legacy hath wroth.”

“Okay, that’s kind of a creepy way of putting it,” Luke says. “He’s already done with his doctorate?”

“ABD,” Leia explains. “His defense is going to be in March, April, something like that, so he’ll be set to start in the fall.”

“So you’re already over pretending you’re considering the other candidates.”

Leia shrugs, smiling brightly, and says, “Well, frankly, I only train the best."

Luke hums vaguely, which is usually the best response to pronouncements like this.

“Anyway, his lecture’s going to be something about the history of the Tikal excavations in Guatemala and the politics of dealing with Mayan ruins and designating UNESCO World Heritage sites,” Leia says. “I know you did some research on that kind of thing when Mahabodhi first got put on the list.”

 “Yeah. Okay, that does sound interesting,” Luke admits. “You tell Mom about it? I bet she’d like to come.”

“Apparently she’s got that annual tea with the law faculty or something,” Leia says, rolling her eyes, a sentiment Luke’s rather inclined to agree with. As Chancellor of the university, Mom always seems to be doing a thousand things at once. “So you’ll have to fill in. Ask some obligatory question about sacred space or whatever it is you’re doing these days.”

“Fine,” Luke sighs. He is sort of curious now, anyway. “I’ll be there.” 

“Good,” Leia says. “Tuesday, the Virginia Reed Room, three pm.”

* * *

> Nien Nunb, email to princehistdeptstudents@listserv.princeton.edu, September 14, 2015.
> 
> “Forwarding this opportunity to you all, from our friends at Theed University! Something to think about for our ABD folks! Hope to see you all on Thursday at our welcome back dinner!
>
>> From: Leia Amidala-Lars <leia.amidalalars@theed.edu>  
>  Sent: September 13, 2015  
>  To: Nien Nunb <niennunb@princeton.edu>  
>  Re: Opening in Latin American History/Modern Cultural History at Theed
>> 
>> Hey Nien, this is the position I mentioned! If you could send it along to your students, that would be great. Send us your best and brightest! Looking forward to seeing you at AHA, by the way.
>>
>>> The Department of History at Theed University invites applications for a full-time, tenure-track faculty position in Latin American History and/or Modern Cultural History. The successful candidate will demonstrate excellence in scholarship and a clear commitment to both undergraduate and graduate teaching. Anticipated start date is August 20, 2016.
>>> 
>>> Applicants must be on track to receive a Ph.D. in the relevant field by May 2016, and must hold a Ph.D. at the time of appointment.” 

* * *

When Luke gets there, the conference room is already crowded. Leia’s always had a talent for marshalling the history grad students into actually attending events. Korr Sella gives a brief wave and a nod, to indicate the free seat next to her. 

Luke drops down into the chair. At the head of the conference table, Poe Dameron, in a gray suit, is sorting through papers, glancing around the room and then smiling at something Leia says. If he’s nervous, he’s doing a good job hiding it. “How was his interview?” Luke asks.

“Good,” Korr murmurs. “Very charming, talked about being inspired by his education here. Was he ever in any of your classes?”

“No. We met at least a couple times, but I don’t remember him particularly well — it’s always so hard to keep track of undergrads if they're not your own majors,” Luke says in a thoughtful whisper. “But Leia seems to think he’s the best candidate.”

Korr nods. “I heard him present at a panel at the American Historical Association last year. If he doesn’t get nervous, I think we should all enjoy this.”

As if on cue, Leia rises to do introductions and then suddenly Poe Dameron looks up at the room and grins, puckish. He leans forward a little, like he’s about to share an incredible secret with them all and says, “Thank you, Dr. Amidala. It’s a real pleasure to be back. No place like the alma mater, huh?”

It’s a testament to Poe’s charm that this actually elicits chuckles, Luke thinks.

“Let’s jump right in, shall we?” Poe says, with a nod. He takes a breath and begins.

Luke swallows.

For the next thirty minutes, Luke suddenly cares, a great deal, about the historical excavations of Mayan ruins he’s never really thought much about, because Poe cares — clearly, passionately, articulately, eyes bright with fascination.

When Poe finishes, Luke can nearly feel the whole room breathe out at the same time. Leia looks smug, sitting at Poe’s right, near the head of the table. “We have twenty minutes for questions, then,” she says.

Some of Leia’s colleagues jump in, and a few of the grad students ask incredibly lengthy questions that make Luke’s eyes glaze over. Poe, though, seems somehow able not only to decipher but also to genuinely value their queries, nodding his head and jotting notes as he answers. By the time they wrap up, it’s already fifteen minutes over the allotted time.

As people start to filter out, Luke gets called on by one of Leia’s advisees to adjudicate an ongoing debate about the relative quality of local pizza places, and so somehow he’s still in the hallway outside the conference room when Poe and Leia emerge.

It’s clear from the way his jacket fits to his shoulders and tapers at the waist that Poe must have had his well-pressed gray suit tailored. His hair is neat, close-cut on the sides, a contrast to the wild mop Luke remembers. Poe’s put in more effort with his appearance for this interview than two-thirds of Luke’s department put together does, on any given day.

“The other Professor Amidala!” Poe says, sticking his hands in his pockets and grinning impishly, laugh lines emerging at the corners of his eyes. “Thought I saw you at the back of the room.”

“Leia mentioned the talk to me,” Luke says, feeling oddly like he should have worn a tie today.

“Mmhmm,” Leia says. “Well, Poe, like I said, it’s very strong material — your adviser should be proud. Now, I’ve got a class, but I’ll see you at dinner.” 

“Yes, ma’am, looking forward to it,” Poe agrees.

Leia nods, pats Luke on the arm in the condescending way she does when she knows something he doesn’t, and walks off.

“So, what’d you think?” Poe asks, bouncing onto the balls of his feet.

“Not that my opinion holds any weight with the history department, but I think you did great,” Luke says truthfully.

Poe glances down at the ground and nods, smiling. “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Poe says. He tilts his head sideways, like he’s assessing Luke. “So, you know I gotta ask—”

Luke sighs, bracing himself for the inevitable question.

“When is the next book coming out? Seriously.”

“Well, my next book is a co-edited volume on religion and environmentalism and it’s coming out in May,” Luke says blandly.

Poe starts laughing before Luke even finishes his sentence.  “Okay, okay, point taken,” Poe says. “But you can’t blame me for trying. I need to know if Maya gets there in time to rescue Teo and Anjali! It’s been five _years_.”

“Four years. And about three months,” Luke corrects. “What makes you think she’s even going to show up?”

Poe makes a face. “No, no, don’t do this to me,” he says. “She _has_ to, that’s her whole character.”

Luke shrugs, unable to hold down a smile. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“But you are working on it, right?”

“You sound like my editor,” Luke mutters, beginning to walk towards the stairs.

Poe just starts walking with him, not looking the least bit abashed. “You know, it’s great to see you, Professor.”

Before he actually thinks it through, Luke says, “You can just call me Luke.” Poe’s eyebrows go up and at that, Luke can feel heat bloom at the back of his neck, a blush creeping over the collar of his shirt. “You’re almost done with your Ph.D. and I suspect if Leia has any say in the matter, we’re going to be colleagues in the fall,” Luke says. 

Poe beams. “Yeah?” 

“I mean, don’t take my word for it. I’m not even in the department.”

“Really undercutting my confidence right now.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Luke says, pausing before the double doors to the main stairwell. “On that note, I do actually have work to be doing, so I should probably go. Good luck with the rest of the job hunt.”

Poe nods and hesitates. Luke waits.

“Can you, um, can you give the Chancellor my best? I’d ask Dr. A. but,” Poe says, gesturing vaguely towards Leia’s office.

“You’re worried she’d laugh and then forget anyway?” 

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

 “I didn’t realize you’d ever met my mother,” Luke says.

 “Only once or twice,” Poe replies. “But my mom always says if weren’t for the Chancellor advocating so hard for women in the astronaut program, she might never have gone to space. Anyway, she’d never let it go if I didn’t at least try to give the Chancellor the family’s greetings.”

 “Sure, I’ll pass you and your family’s good wishes along to my mom,” Luke agrees, walking backwards through the swinging double doors, with a faint, warm sinking feeling — that sense of inevitability he gets sometimes, when he knows he’s on the precipice of doing something stupid and still can’t stop himself. 

* * *

> “Padme Amidala,” Wikipedia, accessed April 3, 2017, https://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Padme_Amidala.
> 
> “Following Palpatine’s landslide victory in the 1980 presidential election, Padme’s tenure as ambassador to the United Nations came to an end. After the new administration’s appointment of Firmus Piett to the diplomatic post, Padme took a place as a professor of international law at Theed University, her mother’s alma mater.
> 
> Despite her apparent step back from the political scene, Padme remained one of the nation’s most consistent and vocal critics of the Palpatine administration and her family the subject of national tabloid fascination, as the Amidala-Lars twins entered young adulthood.” 

* * *

“Oh, so, Poe Dameron says hi,” Luke says, grabbing some kind of canape. He might not enjoy university fundraising events, with all the accompanying pandering to rich alumni and formal wear requirements, but they do come with the benefit of catering far superior to anything the Religion department could ever afford.

“That’s nice,” Mom says. “Who is that?”

“Mom, come on, you remember. My old student, the one I persuaded that being a professor was the best way to make a difference,” Leia says, looking exasperated.

“You’ve convinced a lot of your students that’s true over the years, sweetheart,” Mom says, smiling and nodding genially at someone Luke thinks is maybe from the Office of Multicultural Affairs. “You can’t possibly expect me to remember all of them.”

“Dameron, huh?” Han says, looking skeptically at the coconut shrimp on a skewer the waiter offers him, clearly uncomfortable in the suit Leia must have forced him to wear. “That was that kid with the, uh,” he gestures, “the hair?”

Mom laughs, but shakes her head, saying, “That’s not a terribly helpful description, dear.”

“Shara Bey’s son,” Luke interjects.

“Oh, Shara Bey!” Padme says thoughtfully. “Yes, I think I might remember him now.”

Leia explains, “He’s one of the candidates we’re looking at for the open spot in the department. He came in and did his interview on Tuesday. We’ve still got two more job talks lined up, but right now he’s the one we’re leaning towards.”

“Well, if he remembered me, he’s obviously got a good head on his shoulders,” Mom says.

Just then Leia lights up and says, “Bail, Breha — over here!” 

Luke has never been as close to the Organas as Leia is, but he’s been Breha’s biggest fan ever since the time she had calmly, matter-of-factly lied with an absolutely straight face to Palpatine’s chief secretary, saying that she’d accidentally knocked over the Senator’s vase, wasn’t that a shame, when it had really been Luke, twelve years old and absolutely panicking.

“Ah, coconut shrimp,” Breha says, smiling with satisfaction. “Lovely.”

“Managed to sweet-talk anyone into donating a new library yet?” Bail asks, kissing Mom and Leia on the cheek each in turn.

After the obligatory catch-up — how is Ben doing out at Stanford, how are Leia and Luke’s books going — Luke manages to duck out, walking home in the cold night, the ever otherworldly hush of lightly falling snow enveloping the town.

Winter always makes Luke long for the ranch in New Mexico — not as it is now, rented out to some perfectly nice family, but as it remains in his memory: the sun-blessed mesas straight out of a Georgia O’Keefe painting and the low, steady murmur of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru starting their day. He knows it’s a half-manufactured nostalgia — he’s heard the same kind of yearning for golden ages that may never have existed from his informants — but it still lives with him, takes up residence somewhere under his breastbone each year, until the spring thaw.

The snowfall, the ache in his right arm, the desire to have someone ground him back in the here and now, makes him want to call Mara. She’s always had a talent for pulling him out of his own head — with force, usually. But she’s in Tokyo right now, staging some new piece of choreography. He can’t remember offhand what the time difference is, whether he’d be calling in the middle of her rehearsal time.

Even with that option dismissed, there’s something jittery lingering in his blood. Maybe he’ll try to write tonight, see if he can figure out how to get Teo and Anjali out of the trap he’s written them into, and off onto the next step of the adventure. He knows how the book’s supposed to end, just not how to get there, not yet.

* * *

> Luke Amidala-Lars, “Under the Bodhi Tree: Buddhist Ethics and the Biosphere in Bodh Gaya,” in _Answering the Call: Collected Essays in Honor of Obi-Wan Kenobi_ , ed. Depa Billaba and Ferus Olin (Theed: Theed University Press, 1997), 68.
> 
> “Unlike most of the contributors to this volume, I was never in any official capacity the colleague or student of Obi-Wan Kenobi — or Uncle Ben, as my sister and I called him. Instead, the story of how this article ever came to be starts decades before my birth, when Ben was still a Ph.D. student himself, working in Tosche, New Mexico as a field research assistant for Qui-Gon Jinn, the scholar of Native American traditions. During the trip, Ben befriended the son of their landlady, my ten-year-old father. As a result of that fateful summer, I grew up hearing the stories of landscapes both hallowed and endangered.
> 
> Like so many who had the honor of knowing Obi-Wan Kenobi, I have been, and continue to be, inspired and shaped by both the scholarship he produced and the life he led. At so many of the most important junctures of my own life, Ben was there with a book to read or a bit of wisdom to pass on. It is because of him I went to graduate school at all. It seems only right to publish this essay in a collection dedicated to the man who first taught me that trees could be sacred.” 

* * *

Luke doesn’t really think about Poe Dameron at all after that, not for months. He’s got classes to teach, grading to do, grant proposals to finish, an editor to keep off his back — and Rey’s a high school junior in her spring semester now, so she should be starting to think about college applications. Luke knows with absolute certainty that Rey would flourish at any top-notch university, if she’d just give herself the chance. But she’s been unusually reticent the last time or two Luke’s tried to broach the topic, so one afternoon in late April, Luke heads to Han’s garage, hoping to catch her at the end of her shift.

“Hey, Rey in?” Luke asks, sticking his head around the back.

“Nah, you just missed her,” Han says, not looking up from where he’s got his head practically inside a car engine.

Luke frowns — he wishes he’d come earlier. He’s made a concentrated effort to see Rey more often right before he leaves for the summer, ever since the year she was eight and asked him, “But what if something terrible happens and you don’t come back?”

“She hasn’t said anything to you about college applications, has she?” Luke asks Han.

“That whole part’s your crusade,” Han says, sounding exasperated. “Not my business where she wants to go school. Or even if she wants to.”

“She’s got the makings of a real academic, Han, you have to talk to her,” Luke wheedles, or attempts to. “I mean, I know you think I’m joking about this, but I honestly think she might be a genius.”

“You know, you’re starting to sound an awful lot like Leia, trying to groom people into academics,” Han says.

“Well, we are twins,” Luke says. “It’s bound to happen sometimes.”

“You’re still a little punk, kid,” Han replies. “Look, Rey’s gonna do what she wants. You want her to apply to Theed, talk to her yourself.”

“I just don’t want her to feel obligated. If I ask about it, she might not feel like it’s still her choice, you know?” Luke says. “And she adores you, God only knows why—”

“Hey!” Han says, pulling up and immediately smacking his head against the hood of the car. “Ow!”

“It’s a fucking miracle either of you have survived this long,” Chewie says, walking in.

Luke can’t really dispute that, even though he thinks it’s slightly unfair Chewie included him in that statement when, for once, Luke is neither the one injured nor the cause of the injury.

“Hey, Chewie,” Luke says. “Saw the Falcon out back. Break down again?”

Chewie makes a possibly obscene gesture. “One day,” he says, “we’ll get it back to its original glory.”

Luke’s not sure that car ever _had_ an original glory but he gave up trying to argue the point around the time he turned twenty. “Let me know when the day comes. It’ll be newsworthy for sure,” he says.

“Replacing the lights in the goddamn football stadium is newsworthy in this town,” Han mutters, rubbing his head.

“All part of the charm,” Luke says. “So, are you going to talk to Rey?”

“Fine,” Han sighs. “I’ll bring it up when she comes in tomorrow. Maybe there’s one kid who’ll actually listen to me.”

And Luke’s not even going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Ben had failed to show up for the traditional Amidala family Christmas this year, which took a sheer dedication to pissing off three generations of frankly terrifying people that Luke hadn’t been aware his nephew possessed. Privately, Luke had been reluctantly impressed, as he’d never once managed to escape the semi-formal dinner party himself, despite his best attempts.

“Great, thanks,” Luke says. “I owe you one.”

“Owe me one,” Han mutters. “You owe me way more than that.”

“Hey, we’re family,” Luke says, making a strategic retreat. “We’re supposed to help each other out.”

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, “Dedication,” in _Binary Sunset_ (New York: Endor, 2006), ii.
> 
> _For my nephew, Ben,_  
>  _who asked me once, four years ago,_  
>  _how Darth Vader ended up the way he is._  
>  _Good question. Sorry it took me so long to figure out the answer,_  
>  _but I like to think this story has grown up alongside you._

* * *

Luke has been coming to Bodh Gaya since he was twenty-four and first doing his pre-dissertation research, but getting off the train at the railroad station in Gaya, the closest town, never fails to elicit an incredible exhilaration. He and Hannah, who’s beaming with excitement over getting out into the field for the first time with Luke, both take a minute to sigh with relief as they tumble out onto the busy platform. They’ve been in transit for nearly two full days now, between the flights, the layover, and the train from Patna. Knowing they’re finally on the ground gives Luke a sense of being back in his own body again.

“Oh,” says Hannah when their auto-rickshaw turns a corner and the pagoda of Mahabodhi Temple comes into view. “Oh, wow.”

“I know, right?” Luke says, leaning out the open side of the rickshaw to see better. “It’s really something.” 

“Yeah,” Hannah agrees, breaking into a grin. “Oh, man, this is going to be so cool!”

Luke laughs. “Yeah, I think it will be.”

The next morning, Luke wakes early even though his body protests, slipping out of their rented flat as the sun is still rising to truly take in the sight of Mahabodhi for the first time in a year.

Bodh Gaya is beautiful in the morning, mist floating through the temple complexes. The thought often occurs to Luke that to walk here is to walk with the first disciples of the Buddha, in the footsteps of the millions of pilgrims who have come from all over the globe for more than a thousand years. The very act of it makes Luke over as a person — sometimes he’s convinced that his heart even beats more evenly, surrounded with the now-familiar, ever awe-inspiring architecture, the smells, the tastes.

When he gets back to the flat, Hannah is leaning out a window, taking it all in with bright eyes. “So, when do we start?” she asks, turning around and grinning. 

The ten weeks they’re in Bodh Gaya start to slip away with what feels like increasing rapidity — filled with early-morning circumambulations of temples with monks Luke’s known for decades now, and endless cups of tea, and interviews that will have to be transcribed. They’re looking at globalization and the effects of tourist economy on Bodh Gaya, and when Luke sees Hannah sitting on her haunches, nodding and asking careful questions to young monks and local school teachers, he can imagine the future beginning to unfold in front of her — the yearly pilgrimages she’ll make herself one day.

At an internet cafe six weeks in, Hannah makes a face and says, “Oh my god, I’ve got like four emails in a row from my mom asking me to please call more often. And this is just since the last time we came in — that can’t have been more than two weeks ago, right?”

“Sounds about right,” Luke says, absently, reading a lengthy, rambling email from Rey about the old car she and Han and Chewie are restoring for some rich old man and the apparent ongoing town debate over the rules on beach bonfires.

“I bet your family doesn’t do this to you,” Hannah says.

“Only because they’re used to me dropping out of contact for weeks at a time,” Luke admits. “They’re not exactly fond of it, but they know I’ll write or call eventually.”

“You think if I tell my mom we’re practicing non-attachment, that’d work?” Hannah asks. 

“I mean, don’t let me stop you from trying,” Luke laughs.

At the end of the trip, he and Hannah part ways in the massive Dubai airport.

“Let me know you’ve gotten back to Atlanta okay,” Luke says, giving her a hug. 

“Will do! See you in Theed next week,” Hannah says, re-shouldering her backpack and heading for her gate.  

Luke has spent his summers away from wherever he was calling home for pretty much his whole life. But still, every time, he feels an almost physical sense of welcome whenever he lands in New York. His muscles begin to unwind as that particular East Coast late-summer humidity sinks into his lungs.

He navigates through the crowds in Grand Central, his mind not quite sure what time it is, and gets on the New Haven-bound train.

Han picks him up at the Theed train station in the Falcon, which is apparently working again (for the moment), and drives Luke back home along the coast road with the windows rolled down.

“So, how’s Ben doing?” Luke asks, idly. “I think I heard from him once in the whole ten weeks I was gone.”

Han gives him a look. “Yeah. He gets that trait from you.”

Luke wants to protest — Ben’s communication problems definitely stem from a whole host of things — but Han just continues, “Nah, I mean, how is he ever? Busy doing stuff with computers none of us understand. I think your mom put the fear of God into him, though — he’s saying he’ll be home for Christmas this winter.”

“That’s good to hear,” Luke replies. “Leia working herself up about the new semester already?”

“You know it,” Han agrees. “She and Statura are trying to clear out the empty office for the new kid. You know how they just kept a bunch of Rieekan’s stuff in there after he passed away? They’re trying to figure out what to do with it all now, since they need to put Dameron in there, if they want to keep him in the same building as the department.”

“Cleaning that office could take a while,” Luke says. Rieekan’s office had taken on the odd status of a kind of make-shift time capsule memorial in the year following his death, with his colleagues unwilling to throw away anything belonging to the man who had spearheaded the department for years before gracefully (and somewhat gratefully) ceding the chair position to Leia.

“Yeah,” Han sighs. He’d liked Rieekan, Luke remembers. They used to talk about restoring old cars at dinners.

Han drums his fingers against the steering wheel and then smiles wryly over at Luke. “Brace yourself, by the way. Dameron’s definitely coming to the beginning of the year barbeque.”

“Okay, sure?” Luke says, wondering what exactly that was meant to imply.

Han shakes his head, saying, “The day before yesterday, I came in to bring Leia some book she needed and a bunch of the grad students were standing around talking about Dameron like he was some of kind of Greek god. Just out in the hallway. Like they’d never heard of lowering your voice.”

In Luke’s experience, Han has never once whispered when he could take the opportunity to do exactly the opposite of that, but contrary to popular opinion, Luke does have some sense of when to let things go, so he just shrugs.

“Well, that should make for an interesting start to the semester,” he says.

* * *

> Luke Amidala-Lars and Dak Ralter, “Introduction,” in _The Garden of Eden, The Ocean of Milk: Case Studies in Religion and Environmentalism_ , ed. Luke Amidala-Lars and Dak Ralter (Theed: Theed University Press, 2016), iii.
> 
> “The original idea for this volume came to us nearly five years ago, when we both returned from our respective sabbaticals in New Orleans and Bodh Gaya, India. Neither of us had left Theed planning to research environmental issues, but, as so often happens, we couldn’t ignore the stories we were told or issues we ourselves witnessed. So we were left with a messy tangle of information that didn’t fit our projects, a lot of questions, and an ethical quandary. To sort through our shared academic-existential crisis, we turned to our colleagues in the broader field of religion.

* * *

It appears that some time over the summer, Luke’s office door (which had stopped closing all the way around early March) was finally replaced. Only now it’s got a doorknob instead of a lever handle, which is faintly irritating — Luke’s actually going to have to remember to leave his left hand free instead of pushing the door open with an elbow or his nub.

“Hey, Luke, you’re back!” Dak says, poking his head out of his office. “You just got home — what, a couple days ago, and you’re already here?”

“Yup,” Luke grunts, trying to shuffle his stuff around. He hopes the new key actually works — Valerie, the full time department assistant, is out of town for the week, so there’s no one to save his ass if it doesn’t. 

Dak frowns and shakes his head. “I hate it when they replace shit over the summer without asking anyone’s opinion.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, finally succeeding in getting in.

His office looks reassuringly the same — the wall-mounted, utilitarian bookshelves filled to bursting, the wraparound corner desk he’d inherited from Ben Kenobi, the imposing black leather office chair Mara had sent him as a “congratulations on getting yourself a real job, farmboy,” gift that Luke had decided he actually liked and was going to keep.

The August before his first semester teaching at Theed, he and Han — and Chewie, who had tagged along and mostly just laughed at them both — had pushed the chair, with Ben in it, giggling, up the hill from the parking lot and into Apailana Hall. No one would get in the elevator with them, which had probably been for the best.

“They can give us these shitty new doors but they still can’t put a working lock on the TA office,” Dak comments. “Valerie has rededicated herself to haranguing Buildings and Grounds about it.”

“So, that should happen some time in the next three years, then,” Luke says.

“If it weren’t for your mother, this place would’ve fallen apart years ago,” Dak says, shaking his head, only half-joking.

Luke laughs, drops his stuff on his desk and looks around. He’s got the humming, excited anticipation of a new year in his veins. “Can’t argue with that. Still, it’s good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you back. So, new faculty orientation’s just finished up,” notes Dak, lounging in the doorframe. “They all look so young, so innocent, so unprepared for the ordeal of the tenure process.”

“I remember you being exactly the same,” Luke says, because he does. Dak had looked (and been) impossibly youthful when he was hired and people kept mistaking him for his own TA. Dak had come to Luke — the newest, youngest addition to the department before him, only teaching for two years — saying despairingly, “But you’ve got a baby face, too. How do you get them to listen?” Luke, feeling protective and not wanting to crush Dak’s spirit by admitting his apparent classroom authority was derived almost entirely from faking it, offered, “I guess we could both grow beards. That might help?” They’d actually done it, too, for a few years.

Dak makes a face. “Don’t remind me. You going to be at Leia’s thing?”

“Can’t exactly skip it, can I?” Luke says. “I don’t know why you even bother asking every year.”

“Well, you’re very a hopeful person when it comes to opportunities for ducking out of large social engagements. I don’t like to get in the way of that,” Dak says genially. “Oh, hey, word on the street is that the new hire in History had a bit of a thing for you when he was but a young co-ed here.”

“Wait— what?” Luke asks, trying to follow this abrupt change in conversational topics. “What are you talking about?”

Dak shrugs. “Just what I heard from Maz Kanata, that Poe Dameron — that’s his name, right? That he had some huge crush on you, when he was here for undergrad.”

“She said that?” Abruptly, the rather vague memories he has of Poe Dameron as a college student are coming back to him, their significance suddenly altered. “I thought he was just a fan of the books.”

“Apparently also a fan of your body,” Dak says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You are a total nightmare, Ralter,” Luke informs Dak, pained.

“See, this is the problem with mentoring people. They end up your equals and then they just mock you,” Dak says. “So you really didn’t know?”

“He never even took class with me,” Luke says, sitting down and shaking his head in bafflement.

Dak shrugs. “Well, apparently everyone in the History department knows,” he says.

“Everyone,” Luke repeats, wincing. In retrospect, Luke feels fairly idiotic and also mildly betrayed that Leia clearly knew and didn’t just _tell_ him. Although he’s not sure what he would have done differently, armed with that knowledge. “Why? This would have been years ago. Do they all really have nothing better to talk about?”

“I’m probably exaggerating. I’m sure it’s not everyone,” Dak says, transparently backpedalling. “Personally, I don’t even remember this guy.”

“I’m supposed to be good at observing and describing human emotion and relationships. It’s literally my job,” Luke says, considering the ceiling, swiveling his chair back and forth idly. “And yet.”

“You’re getting way too existential about this,” Dak says. “See, I think this kind of thing is karmic retribution for you managing to still be an out of touch asshole in the era of the global communications revolution.”

“Not how karma works and you know it,” Luke counters. “God, I hope that’s not going to follow him around. That would have horrified me, at that point in my career.”

“Well, you’re easily horrified. Maybe he isn’t,” Dak says. “Anyway, moving on from your evident mental shock there, the kids keep asking when they’re going to see you. Aditi says you should come over for dinner once you’re not dying of jetlag.”

“Absolutely, just tell me when,” Luke says. “I’ve got some stuff from Patna to give to the kids.”

“See, this is why you’re their favorite fake uncle,” Dak says, clapping Luke on the shoulder.   

* * *

> Selena de la Vega, “University Profiles: Luke Amidala-Lars,” _The Theed Daily Chronicle_ , March 18, 2005.
> 
> “Around campus, Professor Amidala is best known for his immensely popular “Place and Pilgrimage” course, which has made it onto the _Chronicle_ ’s list of courses every undergraduate should take before graduation for the past five years running. What you might not know is that Amidala is also the author of the science fiction series _Star Wars_ , which consists of the novel _Solar Wind, Arbor Rain_ and its sequel, _Echoes in the Canyon_ , under the pen name Luke Skywalker. A stand-alone prequel,  _Binary Sunset_ , is slated to come out next year.
> 
> “I had the idea for the series since I was in college, but I started actually writing the first book while I was in grad school. It was something I would do on the side, writing this sci-fi pulp,” Amidala explained. “ _Solar Wind, Arbor Rain_ ended up coming out right around the same time as my first academic book, which felt fitting somehow."
> 
> Skywalker was his father’s call sign in the Air Force and Amidala picked the pen name in honor of him.” 

* * *

As he’s done almost every year since he moved back to Theed, Luke ends up coming over early to Leia and Han’s place before the beginning of semester barbeque. Leia had called and ordered him off on a last minute grocery run to pick up forgotten items, including paper plates and napkins. Love them as Luke does, he’s not quite convinced either Leia or Han ever really learned how to shop like normal human beings. How Ben ever got as tall as he is eating the combination of things he was fed, Luke really doesn’t know.

“Did you get extra ice?” Leia demands the moment Luke walks in the door. “I forgot to tell you—”

“Yes, Leia, I got extra ice,” Luke says. “Anand’s holding it.”

Dak’s teenage son silently hefts the bag of ice.  

“Oh, good,” Leia says. “Now, Anand, you and your sister are coming tonight, right?”

“Uh,” Anand says, caught out. “I guess so.”

Luke smiles encouragingly at Anand, who looks resigned to going now, despite the fact that he’d clearly rather be skateboarding, or whatever his hobby of the moment is. Luke has a lot of sympathy.

“Good,” Leia says, firmly, already moving onto the next task at hand. “Luke, go make sure Han and Chewie aren’t setting themselves or the deck on fire.”

Luke’s tempted to make a joke, but looking at Anand’s distinct alarm, he holds back. “Sure, Leia, can do.”

Anand follows him out the back door, hands in his pockets. “You don’t think there’s really going to be a fire, right?” he asks.

Luke laughs. “I think we’re probably okay. Thanks for helping out, buddy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Anand mutters, with a shrug. “See you later.”

“I doubt anyone’s going to notice if you and Malini duck out after getting some food,” Luke offers.

Anand’s whole face brightens. Luke hopes he never tries to play poker.

“Cool,” Anand says. “Hey, uh, you know I don’t, like, mind helping out, right?”

Luke wants to pat him on the head, but he remembers being sixteen and convinced he had things figured out. “I do. And I appreciate that.”

Two hours later, the house is still standing (somewhat miraculously), the grill is basically working like it should, and the guests start arriving.

Mom arrives just on time with a platter of fancy pastries. “Hi, sweetheart. Over your jetlag yet?” she asks 

“Not really,” Luke says. “Any chance you’ll cover for me so I can go home and nap?” 

“None whatsoever,” Mom replies. “Your sleep schedule will never reset if you don’t make an effort to sleep at normal times, you know that.”

So Luke stays and mingles. Some of his grad students are here, back from their summers, tanned from their fieldwork or pale from the archives. It’s a gift to see them laughing and bursting with stories to be shared. Luke knows from experience that as the weeks edge on, their loose-limbed, sun-warmed eagerness will be cut through with stress and responsibilities and the occasional burst of hysterical existential confusion, generally prompted by a combination of exhaustion and caffeine.

But for now, they’re laughing.

“See?” Mom says, coming up to Luke and threading her arm through his. “Aren’t you glad I made you stay?”

“Sure, Mom,” Luke says, peaceably.

That’s when Poe Dameron strolls over, the sleeves of his casual cotton button-down rolled up to reveal his forearms. His hair’s longer than it was in the winter, loose curls tumbling gently over the edge of his collar. He looks infinitely more relaxed than he had in his well-tailored suit and tie.

“Hi, Luke,” he says, like he’s testing the name out. “I was just wondering if you were here.”

“Not entirely of my own volition,” Luke replies, giving what he hopes is a polite smile. It shouldn’t even be possible for Luke to feel this suddenly self-conscious in his own sister’s backyard. “Poe, you remember my mother, Chancellor Amidala.”

“Of course! Chancellor,” Poe says, shaking hands with Mom, “it’s so good to see you! I don’t know if you remember me, but I was one of Leia’s undergraduate students a while back. Poe Dameron? I just got hired to the department.”

Mom’s eyebrows rise infinitesimally. “Ah, yes, Shara Bey’s son.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe grins, “that would be me.”

“I came down to Cape Canaveral to watch your mother’s shuttle launch,” Mom says. “Really extraordinary.”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees. “Her launch was exactly two weeks after my thirteenth birthday, I remember that so distinctly. We were in this observation room with all these other family members of the crew. I have never seen my dad so nervous.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Mom says. “I’m sure you’ll be a credit to the university.”

Poe looks a little bit bowled over by that statement, an expression Luke’s seen his mother elicit in any number of people. It’s endearing, somehow, on Poe.

“I certainly hope to be,” Poe says.

“Moving from Princeton go okay?” Luke asks. Mom smiles in polite interest.

“Yeah,” Poe says. “It’s kind of weird, being back in town, you know? Watching all the kids coming back for the semester and eating ice cream by the fountain, I keep thinking that I did that, too.”

“Luke knows all about that,” Mom says.

“Yeah. It’ll get less strange,” Luke says. “I felt a lot like that when I moved back. Except for me, it was the town where I lived as a teenager. Half the neighbors still remember the time I climbed in a window at the Academy when I was fourteen.”

“What? Why were you climbing _in_ the window?” Poe asks. “You weren’t stealing something, were you?”

Mom laughs at that. “Depending on your point of view. Luke got it into his head that he really needed to liberate some tree the school kept in a pot in the atrium, because he felt it wasn’t being properly cared for.”

“Because it _wasn’t_ ,” Luke mutters, still righteous about it, decades and decades later.

Mom squeezes his upper arm and continues, which is the opposite of what Luke wanted. “The Latin teacher stumbled upon the scene when Luke was trying to get the tree out the window and I got quite the baffled call from the principal’s office. It was very difficult, keeping a straight face in that meeting. You just looked so defiant the entire time,” Mom grins up at him. “And there was the principal trying to say you couldn’t go around coopting school property even if you thought it was for the greater good.”

Just then Luke spots Dak, Aditi and their kids wandering onto the deck, which is honestly a relief. He’d been hoping they were here by now, but the timing has the side-benefit of giving him a (temporary) escape route. “Excuse me for just a second,” Luke says, extricating himself, to walk over to Dak and Aditi.

“Hey, there you are,” Dak says, as Luke gets to the stairs. “We couldn’t find you.”

“Is Rey out here?” Malini asks hopefully. She and Rey play field hockey together sometimes, even though Malini’s only just starting at the Academy’s Upper School next week — Luke’s pretty sure they both enjoy pelting people in the shins more than the actual game.

“No,” Luke says, scanning the crowd again, just in case. “I called her to tell her she should come but she never picked up. She’s been kind of in the wind since I got back. Have either of you seen her in the past couple days?”

Malini shakes her head, face falling in disappointment.

“Anand,” Aditi says, elbowing him gently.

“Huh?” Anand says, looking up from his phone. “Um. Yeah, Rey. I saw her yesterday, in the library.”

“And?” Dak prompts.

“And she seemed fine? I don’t know,” Anand says, shrugging kind of apologetically at Luke.

“Kids,” Dak says, shaking his head, though he’s smiling.

“Okay,” Malini says, dragging out the word. “Anand, let’s get cake.” And, as abruptly as that, Anand and Malini are off, navigating around clumps of people toward the card table laden with desserts. 

“Is your mother here?” Aditi asks, looking around.

“Talking to Poe Dameron,” Luke says, nodding over toward where his mother’s standing, still clearly still in storytelling mode. Luke wonders if he can get away with just never returning to that conversation. Probably not — his mother has always had an uncanny ability to locate Luke and Leia if they’re anywhere nearby.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aditi says, significantly. “Is that right?”

“Really, Dak?” Luke says. 

“Marriage is about sharing,” Dak says, widening his eyes.

Aditi laughs and says, “Your mother seems to like him.”

“Apparently. When I escaped, she was telling the story about my attempted tree rescue,” Luke sighs.

“Yes,” Dak says, grinning, “I love that story.”

Luke just looks at him, baleful. 

“No, why that face?” Aditi says, giving him a one-armed hug. “That’s a good story about you.”

“Come save me before my mom starts recounting all the other weird things I did as a kid,” Luke says.

“But there are so many to choose from,” Dak says, as they make their way over. “Where would she even start?”

When Luke returns, flanked by Dak and Aditi, Mom is only just concluding, “He ended up making quite the presentation arguing that the Academy should give the tree to the University Arboretum, because the botanists at the university would know what to do with it.”

“It worked,” Luke says, feeling compelled to point that out. “The tree’s in the Arboretum, still. It’s doing fine now.”

Poe’s eyes are wide, fingers pressed against his smiling mouth. “Luke Amidala-Lars, savior of trees,” he says.

“Something like that,” Luke says, trying not to feel ridiculous and only partly succeeding.

“Luke read _Silent Spring_ as a teenager and it changed his life,” Dak says, grinning.

“Okay,” Luke says, not bothering to refute that statement, because it’s essentially true. “Anyway, Dak, Aditi — this is Poe Dameron, the new hire in History. Poe, Dak Ralter and Aditi Malhotra — Dak’s in Religion with me and Aditi is Theed’s resident Virginia Woolf scholar.”

“Did the children not come?” Mom asks, as Dak and Aditi shake hands with Poe.

“Oh, they’re here,” Dak says. “It’s just that talking to people is apparently less interesting than cake.”

“I can kind of see the logic in that,” Luke muses. 

“Two-thirds of our job is talking to people,” Dak laughs.

“I know. Maybe that’s the problem,” Luke says. “Maybe we should be spending more time eating cake instead.”

“ _Shabash_ ,” Aditi says.1 “Such genius. If I could solve all the issues with my book chapter by eating cake, what a life that would be.”

“No arguments here,” Poe say, smiling crookedly.

“I have always believed cake was one of the better human inventions,” Mom says, thoughtfully.

“Oh! I need to talk to you,” Dak says, pointing at Korr Sella as she’s walking by. “Did you see that op-ed by Hux?”

“Yes,” Korr says, shaking her head. “Completely ridiculous. The man is odious.”

“See, I knew you would appreciate my anger,” Dak says. “We should get together, write a rebuttal.”

“He’s always very impassioned,” Mom comments, as Dak and Korr wander off to discuss plans, Dak gesticulating wildly as Korr nods. Poe’s eyebrows are raised slightly, though whether that’s because he’s alarmed, Luke isn’t sure.

“I suppose I should probably intervene before Dak gets any more worked up,” Aditi says, sounding resigned. Then she looks at Luke. “You’re not going to help me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to marry him,” Luke says, good-naturedly accepting the light shove Aditi gives him. Mom shakes her head in amusement.

“It was good to see you, Chancellor. And it was nice to meet you,” Aditi says to Poe, as she begins to walk away. “Hopefully we’ll even have an actual conversation one day.”

“That would be great,” Poe says, smiling. “So this is life on the faculty side, huh?” he adds, turning back to Luke.  

“There’s a lot more inchoate yelling than you’d suspect,” Luke says.

“Maybe in your department, dear,” Mom says. “My office functions at a perfectly normal volume.”

“I don’t think we’d even know who we were if we weren’t constantly questioning ourselves and why our department even exists,” Luke says.

Poe nods, looking amused. “Guess I’m gaining a lot of insight today.”

“Poe, there you are,” Leia says, bustling over. “Come with me, I want to make sure you get properly introduced to the rest of the history grad students.”

“Uh,” Poe says.

“In my experience, it’s best just to do as you’re told,” Luke informs him.

Leia rolls her eyes, but Mom laughs.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Poe says to Luke, as he’s being dragged off.

“Not the world’s biggest campus, so probably,” Luke agrees, not sure if he’s resigned or something else.

“So that was Shara Bey’s son,” Mom says thoughtfully. 

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “That’s him.”

“Grew up handsome, didn’t he?”

“Not you, too,” Luke sighs.

Mom laughs. “Sorry. He is quite young, isn’t he? But very . . . sincere,” she concludes. “I think that’s a good thing.”

“I suppose,” Luke says.

“Well, _you’re_ very sincere and that’s a good thing,” Mom says staunchly.

“Thanks, Mom,” Luke says, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Mom smiles and reaches up. “You look so much like your father when your hair’s grown out like this,” she says, almost to herself, tucking a wavy strand of Luke’s hair behind his ear.

Luke’s lived more than twenty years longer than his father ever did. In a family known for their dark, plentiful curls, his tarnished gold has always stood out.

“I know,” he says.

* * *

> Corde Doukakis, “Memorial for Commander Anakin Lars Held at Varykino Estate,” _The Hartford Courant_ , September 23, 1971.
> 
> “On Thursday, Senator Padme Amidala and her family held a memorial for Amidala’s late husband, Commander Anakin Lars. Lars died earlier this year in the Mustafar shuttle disaster. Investigations into the flaws that caused the breakup of the spacecraft are still ongoing. Throughout the memorial, Lars was remembered as a talented and passionate pilot and later astronaut, as well as a loving father, husband, and friend.
> 
> Sitting on either side of Senator Amidala were her father, former Connecticut governor, Ruwee Amidala, and her mother, Jobal Amidala, each holding one of the four year old Amidala-Lars twins. Conspicuously absent was Senator Sheev Palpatine, once an across-the-aisle mentor figure to Padme Amidala. Senator Amidala has emerged as amongst the foremost critics of the Security Expansion Act sponsored by Senator Palpatine. 
> 
> Dr. Obi-Wan Kenobi of Theed University, who had known Lars since Lars’ childhood in New Mexico, delivered the eulogy.”  

* * *

Luke’s walking home through the park, the Saturday before the start of the fall semester. It’s a deep blue evening fading into night — he’d gotten distracted in the library by some tangentially-related books — crickets hidden in the grass, and Luke’s trying to figure out whether it’s too early in his still-struggling manuscript to bring the swashbuckling Kira back into the narrative. That’s when he spots a familiar figure.

Looking at Rey in profile, sitting cross-legged on a park bench, Luke almost sees her in double: the Rey in front of him, a scrappy seventeen-year-old with strong feelings about Tolkien and global warming, and the Rey he’d first met right here in the same park, a distraught seven-year-old who was determined to run away from home and wouldn’t tell Luke where she lived for hours, despite accepting his offer of a sandwich and cookies.

“Rey?” he calls. It’s late and she’s alone and Luke knows that Unkar Plutt isn’t always the ideal foster parent.

“Hi,” she says, looking up and waving.

“Nice evening to be outside,” Luke says, sitting down next to her, crossing his legs as well, so they match. “I’m glad I bumped into you, actually. I finally figured out where those books I brought back for you are.”

“Good. I need new reading material, anyway,” Rey says, scratching at her ankle.

“So?” Luke asks, expectant, like he’s been doing for a decade now.

Rey shrugs. “So, Unkar and I had an argument. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I told him I’d be eighteen in a couple of months and then he couldn’t keep trying to boss me around anymore and he started going on about how I thought I was so smart but I actually don’t know how the real world works. Which is ridiculous. So I left and came out here.”

“I’m sorry you’re not getting along,” Luke offers, quiet. 

Rey picks at her shoelace. “Anyway, I turn eighteen in December and maybe then I won’t have to live there anymore and then I’ll go to college, like you said.”

“I’m glad you’re sure about applying now,” Luke offers. “I mean, the Academy’s great and all, but it’s still high school.”

“It’s just the other students mostly, you know, calling me a townie like it’s an insult,” Rey says, rolling her eyes. “It’s so stupid.”

“Would you like to come over and have something to eat?” Luke asks 

Rey looks at him knowingly.

“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor. Leia just pawned off all these leftovers on me and I hate macaroni salad." 

“Really, you _hate_ macaroni salad?” Rey asks, standing up from the bench, which seems like a good sign.

“I suppose hate is too strong a word,” Luke revises. “I _dislike_ macaroni salad. It’s a misnomer.”

“Lots of things are,” Rey says wisely.

“That’s very true,” Luke agrees.

“If we’re going to your house, you can finally show me your photos from this summer,” Rey says, swinging her arms idly, as they walk back to Luke’s house. It reminds Luke of when she was just a kid, already prone to unique hairstyles and wandering around Han and Chewie’s garage, curious and wide-eyed. “You’ve been promising since you got back.”

“Yeah, I’ve actually started sorting through them now, but you’ll really want to see Hannah’s at some point — she’s a much better photographer,” Luke says. “Her architectural shots are great.”

“I wish I could’ve been there,” Rey says wistfully.

“Maybe next summer,” Luke offers. “I could use a new research assistant, since Hannah’s going to be off starting her own project.”

Rey grins, but looks away and says, “Well, maybe. I don’t even have a passport.”

“That’s easily remedied,” Luke replies.

When they get home, Rey rifles through her new books while Luke unpacks the leftovers. One’s a collection of short stories by Saadat Hasan Manto — Luke had spotted it in the bookstore, suddenly overpowered by the memory of reading Manto for the first time at nineteen and calling Leia immediately, to read whole paragraphs out to her. It’s the second book that Rey holds up though, an illustrated collection of Jataka stories, recounting the past lives of the Buddha.2

“Hey, like the stories you used to tell me,” she says, cradling the book against her chest.

Luke says, “I guess I was feeling sentimental.”

“Now I can take them with me, wherever I go next year,” Rey says.

“Glad you like them,” Luke says, suddenly astonished again, thinking of how much Rey’s grown and of how much lies in front of her.

Rey carefully places her books on the coffee table. " _1600 Pennsylvania_?” she asks, picking up the DVD collection sitting there. “Are you re-watching?”

Luke shrugs. “It’s comforting, watching people earnestly try to fix the country. Even if it’s fiction.”

Rey nods at this. “I get that,” she agrees. “I never got past season two. Unkar finally realized someone was using his Netflix and changed the password.”

Luke probably shouldn’t find Rey’s penchant for minor theft as petty revenge funny, but he does.

“Well, I’ve got a perfectly legal copy and the opening of season three is great,” Luke says, handing her a plate of food. “Come on, sit down, we should watch it.”

Rey flops down on the couch, making herself comfortable. “Is it true that President Schuyler’s based on your mom?” Rey asks, when they’re halfway through an episode — Jake, Katarina and Eli have just gotten stranded in Kansas, left behind by the campaign bus. “Like what they think she would’ve been like as president?”

Luke shrugs. “I never met any of the screenwriters to ask, but yeah, I’ve always kind of thought she was probably a mash-up of my mom and President Mothma.”

“Does that mean you and Leia are Julian and Libby?”

“Libby does get into a near-fatal helicopter crash in season five,” Luke muses.

Rey makes a face. “Well, that’s just crass.”

Luke laughs. “She manages to figure out a way of contacting the search and rescue team before passing out, so I guess I should be flattered.”

When they finish the second half of the two-part season premiere, it’s past eleven, and Rey’s blinking slow, sleep-heavy eyelids.

“Why don’t you crash in the spare room for the night?” Luke says. “It’s already late.”

Rey’s quiet for a moment and then shrugs. “Okay. Is my toothbrush still here?”

“Yeah, upstairs bathroom,” Luke replies. “Same as always.”

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Solar Wind, Arbor Rain_ (New York: Endor, 1999), 123.
> 
> “But how I am supposed to know what to do?” Maya asked. “I’ve never even flown in a ship like this, much less tried to _hit_ something.”
> 
> “Well, first, breathe!” Anjali ordered.
> 
> “But maybe do that quickly?” Teo yelled over the comm. “We could kind of use some cover here." 
> 
> “Maya,” Aunt Ilana said, her voice an oasis of concentrated serenity in the midst of jangling chaos, “focus. Feel the Force flow through you.”
> 
> Maya closed her eyes and tried to let go.
> 
> “Good,” Aunt Ilana said. “See? You’ll be just fine. You just need to keep your mind on each task at hand. One thing at a time.” 

* * *

Teaching his first class of the semester always leaves Luke too filled with buzzing excitement to sit down and concentrate on work again immediately. Instead of heading back to his office, he wanders off to the back gardens of the Arboretum.

That’s when he spots Poe, half-hidden behind a trellis, pacing. Luke coughs, to be polite.

“Holy shit,” Poe says, clapping a hand to his chest. “Where did you even come from?”

“The path?” Luke offers. The University Arboretum is a popular hangout spot for undergrads when the weather’s nice. As a result, Luke normally doesn’t spend too much time out here, but this particular back corner garden is usually deserted and hard to find, and he’s got an emotional attachment to it.

“Jess and I found this place our sophomore year,” Poe says. “I thought we’d found somewhere secret.”

“I don’t think too many people know this is back here. But I kind of grew up here.” Luke adds, because Poe looks abnormally pale, “You’re not going to vomit, are you?”

“I’m teaching this afternoon,” Poe explains. “My first class.”

“Nervous?” Luke asks, remembering how he’d hidden his shaking hand behind the lectern the day he’d given his first lecture as an assistant professor.

“Are you kidding?” Poe asks. Luke’s just wondering if he’d misread the situation when Poe confesses, “I haven’t been this freaked out since my comp exams.”

“Then you handled grad school a lot better than I ever did,” Luke says.

Poe smiles, briefly. “You got any last-minute pedagogical advice?” he asks.

Luke sits down on the old stone bench in half-lotus, the way he does to think, to listen carefully when people speak.

Because the thing is: Luke teaches like it's a performance. He was never comfortable around the cameras or the journalists who asked questions when he was young. But behind a lectern, Luke is a version of himself who can command people's attention, a version of himself who can channel his mother's charisma and his sister's passion. But he’s well aware that his own methods aren’t universally applicable. 

So he says, “What works is always going to depend on you, on the dynamic of the class. Sometimes stuff works, sometimes it doesn’t. You’re never going to be able to control all the factors. You just kind of have to embrace that.”

“You are awful at being reassuring,” Poe says, sounding almost impressed.

“Most of your students, they’re not going to realize that you’re afraid,” Luke says. “That’s what you have to remember. Most of them aren’t thinking about you as someone who’d be afraid of them. And until you aren’t, you just do your best.”

“When did you get over it?”

“I haven’t yet,” Luke admits. “First day of classes always makes me nervous, too. But you do this long enough, you figure out what works for you. And so you get more comfortable.”

“And until then, I do my best,” Poe says, sitting down next to Luke on the bench.

“Yeah.”

Poe is quiet for a while, drumming his fingers lightly on his thighs. The sunshine filtering through the leaves hits his cheekbones with a kind of gentle drama, like a Hopper painting.

“That was helpful, actually,” Poe finally says, turning to look at Luke. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out I’m good at _some_ stuff,” Luke replies, feeling like he’s been caught staring and unable — as always — to control his blush.

Poe grins and says, “That I don’t doubt.”

Luke shakes his head and looks down at the ground. “You are a very strange person.”

“That’s so sweet,” Poe says. “You talk to your students this way?”

“You aren’t one of my students.”

Poe’s eyebrows go up and his smile grows wider. “That’s definitely true. So why are you out here? Were you freaking out, too?”

“Already had my first class,” Luke says. “Devotionalism in South Asia.”

“How’d it go?”

“Good, I think,” Luke says. “That’s the tree, by the way.” He points to where it stands, taller than a person now, leaves playing in the wind.

“The one you tried to steal?”

“I wasn’t stealing it,” Luke protests. “I was helping it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a pretty strange person yourself — I don’t think I ever realized before,” Poe replies, his left cheek resting in his hand.

“Don’t you have a class to be prepping for?” Luke asks.

“That I do,” Poe agrees. He stands back up, buttons his blazer and smoothes it down. “So what do you think? Do I look convincingly professorial?”

“Yes,” Luke says. And then, because it’s true, and Luke tries to be truthful, he adds, “You look good.”

“Thanks, you too,” Poe says, grinning. “I’ve always thought your whole all-black aesthetic worked for you, even when I was in college.”

“My sartorial choices really aren’t made with students in mind,” Luke says, prickly and uncomfortable, faced with the abrupt reminder that Poe was once an eighteen-year-old whose crush on Luke had ended up common knowledge among the History faculty.

Poe looks down at him with raised eyebrows and an amused smile. “You know, a lot of people I was in undergrad with were always trying to come up with reasons why you dress the way you do. I mean, some wild stuff. But I’m thinking that the real reason’s got to be either way weirder or way more boring.”

“Right,” Luke says. He is, he realizes, sort of offended.

“Because now I know that you steal trees and get nervous before lectures,” Poe says, starting to walk slowly backwards toward the path. “Anyway, the reality’s usually more interesting and complicated than any rumors, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, because he’s lived his whole life with people talking about him — the son of Padme Amidala and Anakin Lars, the boy who’d almost died on the side of a highway - and he’s never really recognized himself in the person that strangers still sometimes expect him to be. “That’s true.”

“I’ll see you around, Luke,” Poe says, before walking off towards the main quad, sunlight glinting in his hair.

* * *

> Maura O’Connor, “The Twins Are Back in Town!” _New York Herald_ , May 21, 1991.
> 
> “These days, Luke and Leia Amidala-Lars are residents of Philadelphia and Cambridge, MA, respectively, but that doesn’t mean the city doesn’t get quite the eyeful of them, from time to time.
> 
> Luke, our favorite UPenn grad student, was spotted out and about in the UWS on Sunday, in a Yale University crew team sweatshirt. Earlier in the weekend, he was seen grabbing lunch with Wedge Antilles, son of New York’s own Senator Antilles, who just so happened to be captain of the crew team while at Yale. Coincidence? We’ll let you decide.
> 
> Meanwhile, on Saturday, Leia, a lifelong blue-blooded fashion icon turned smarty-pants Harvard grad student, was looking chic as always, toting a Prada bag and long-time boyfriend Han Solo through Central Park. 

* * *

After that encounter in the Arboretum, Luke keeps seeing Poe everywhere — in the basement cafe in the Social Sciences Library, in the elevator in Apailana Hall, out in town. Luke wasn’t lying when he said Theed University isn’t the biggest campus in the world — he runs into people he knows all the time — but seeing Poe in all the familiar places of Luke’s life, the places he has layered over with memories and emotion, somehow gets under his skin. Every time, Poe’s looked up and waved with easy friendliness, or laughed at Luke’s not-really-a-joke commentary on the obscure workings of the fifth floor copy machine, or casually asked how Luke’s weekend was. It’s all very disconcerting.

And then, on a Saturday morning early in October, Luke walks into Sosha’s Place, the cafe a few blocks from Luke’s house where Luke’s done so much of his best writing. Poe’s sitting there by a side window.

“How are you even doing this?”

Poe looks up, pulling off his headphones and blinking. He’s wearing glasses today — wide and black-rimmed — and they’re slipping down his nose slightly. “What?” Poe asks, looking around.

“You’re _everywhere_ ,” Luke says, adjusting his own glasses automatically. “How are you even doing that?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I swear I’ve seen you at least twice a day for the past two weeks.”

“We work in the same building,” Poe says slowly, starting to smile a little. “And this whole town is what, five square miles?”

“Seven and a half, actually,” Luke corrects.

“Which, of course, makes all the difference,” Poe says. “See, and I was going to say it’s been nice seeing you around, but now you’ve made it weird.”

“I need coffee,” Luke decides.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Poe says, tipping his head to the side and grinning.

When Luke’s ordered coffee, had his family’s health inquired into, and been made the guinea pig for some kind of new pastry the baker’s trying out, he searches for a seat. It’s still fairly crowded with the lingering weekend breakfast/brunch crowd.  

“You can join me if you want,” Poe offers, clearing his beat-up canvas backpack off the table.

Luke’s fairly certain this is a bad idea, if he wants to retain the careful illusions he’s built for himself, but he drops his stuff into a spare chair and sits down. “How’d you hear about this place?” he asks, pulling out his laptop. “Most people from the university don’t even realize it’s here.”

Sosha’s Place is an odd mash-up of a French-style Vietnamese cafe and an American diner, complete with slightly bizarre mirror panels and town paraphernalia on the walls. The owners have known Luke since he was a teenager who the eponymous Sosha could talk into giving her piggy-back rides.

“I have my sources,” Poe says. “Anyway, I decided to switch up my coffee drinking habits. I want to support local business.”

“You kept bumping into your students at the places around campus?” Luke asks.

“Yeah,” Poe admits. “A little bit weird and awkward for all of us. Chewie mentioned this place when I went to get my oil changed, so I thought I would check it out.”

Luke has the momentary paranoid thought that his family is conspiring against him, but that seems unfair — Chewie loves Sosha’s, because the owners have long since started giving him free coffee as thanks for the various strange car repairs he’s done for them over the years.

“The banh mi’s good, if you’re still here at lunch time,” Luke offers.

“I probably will be,” Poe says, glancing down at his piles of papers. “Who are all these people, anyway?” he adds, gesturing none too subtly toward to the hipsters with their beanies and leather journals. “I do not remember this whole scene from when I was in college.”

“My guess is writers who do think-pieces for online papers about how choosing to move out of New York has changed their artistic perspective,” Luke assesses. “It’s the newest Theed phenomenon.”

“You know, you’re actually kind of mean,” Poe says thoughtfully.

“I’m not mean,” Luke protests.

Poe just looks at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

“It’s a family trait,” Luke admits, sighing from the truth of the statement. “I usually try to practice compassion, but it’s still a work in progress. I’ve been told by a lot of the monks and nuns I know that I really need to work on my patience.”

Poe smiles, maybe a little bemused. “Hey, I don’t mind. I think it’s kind of funny.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Luke says.

Poe’s still smiling and it’s vaguely discomforting, so Luke focuses on pulling up his barely-existing chapter draft on his laptop.

For the next few hours, they both work in companionable quiet, the bustling of the kitchen and the ambient noise of people’s conversations providing a background. Luke knows people who prefer to work in silence or alone in their offices, but he’s always liked the reminder of people, their significance and their mess, when he’s writing.

“Gonna get a sandwich,” Poe says, at some point. “You want a refill?” He gestures to Luke’s coffee mug.

“I’m good,” Luke murmurs, only half-present. He knows that Maya has to return to Dagobah to finish her training, but he can’t figure out how to depict her friends’ reactions to her leaving just after the rescue of Teo and Anjali.

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” Poe says, dropping back down into his seat a few minutes later.

Luke hesitates and then confesses, “The long-awaited novel, actually.”

“No shit,” Poe says, raising his eyebrows, a smile growing. “So this is the artist at work, huh?”

“Depending on your definition of art.”

Poe just continues grinning and says, “Well, I won’t interrupt.”

“You don’t want to ask what’s happening?”

“Oh, I want to,” Poe says. “But I get it — I hated how everyone was always asking me how my dissertation chapters were going before I was even ready to discuss them. I mean, unless you want to talk it out.” 

Luke pauses. 

Suddenly, the problem is untangling itself before him — Anjali, who understands duty, and Teo, who understands sacrifice, and Kira, who understands bone-deep loyalty, of course they would accept Maya leaving again, even if they mourned it. The dialogue unspools in Luke’s head and he knows he has to catch it before it dissipates.

“I think I’m good,” Luke says. “But — maybe some other time.”

“Just let me know,” Poe replies.

“I will,” Luke says, surprising himself by genuinely meaning it.

“Okay,” Poe says, nodding and smiling widely.

Luke glances at Poe’s piles of papers and asks, “What about you? What’re you working on?”

“Book proposals,” Poe says, with a sigh. “I’m trying to find a publisher to take on my dissertation as a book and it’s making me feel remarkably irrelevant.”

“Just keep reminding yourself that you wouldn’t have slogged through six years of grad school if what you do didn’t matter,” Luke says.

“Ah, but _does_ it matter, to the general public?”

“Sure it does,” Luke says. “They just don’t know it yet.”

Poe looks down, smiling again, and nods. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Luke says, turning his attention back to his laptop, trying to catch Maya’s voice and Kira’s response.

When it gets to be about two in the afternoon, Luke’s hit a satisfying stopping point. If he walks over to the garage now, Rey should be just about getting off her Saturday shift, ready to get her weekly cross-examination about how applications are going.

“I’m going to pack up, head out,” Luke informs Poe. “Good luck with — all of that,” he says, gesturing towards Poe’s increasingly disorganized stacks of reading.

Poe smiles wryly. “Thanks. I’ll see you around,” he says.

“Inevitably, apparently,” Luke agrees.

On the walk over to the garage, Luke’s nursing the slightly giddy self-satisfaction that follows the knowledge that he’s actually written something, something good even. The sun’s out and the trees that line the streets, the students eating pizza on the steps of the municipal building, and the stone facade of Apailana Hall up on University Hill are all golden-lit. Luke’s glad to be here, of all places on Earth.

“Hey,” Luke says, as he enters the garage.

Rey’s in her coveralls, sitting behind the front counter, reading a book. “Hi,” she says, looking up. She narrows her eyes at him. “You look happy.”

“Got a bunch of writing done today,” Luke says.

“The novel?” Rey asks, suspiciously.

“Maybe.”

“Luke!” Rey says, leaning forward. “Are you writing again?”

“I think the better question is: are _you_ writing?”

“Avoiding the question!”

“I’ll let you read the new chapter if you finish your Common App essay.”

“A whole new chapter,” Rey repeats, her eyes lighting up. Then she frowns. “Bribery is unethical, Luke.”

“Think of it as an incentive,” Luke offers.

Rey looks thoughtful. “So if I give you a full draft of my essay, you’ll give me the new chapter?”

“I will,” Luke agrees.

“And that’s a promise?”

“It is.”

Rey nods, seriously. “Better hand that chapter over, Skywalker,” she grins, suddenly sunny. “I finished that essay yesterday!”

Luke should probably have expected this. “You take an unholy delight in one-upping me,” Luke informs Rey, who still looks inordinately pleased with herself.

“You already promised,” Rey crows. “You have to send it now!" 

Whatever else Luke’s done with his life, he’s glad he and Han and Leia have been able to give Rey people in her life who she absolutely believes will keep their promises to her.

“Fine, fine,” Luke agrees, amiable enough. “But I expect actually helpful feedback, not a string of indecipherable emoticons in a text, okay?”

“People call them emojis, now,” Rey informs him.

“I. Okay,” Luke says. “The point still stands.” 

* * *

> Safiya Haleem, “Between the University and the Stars,” _New Yorker_ , July 12, 2014, 37.
> 
> “The Theed University Arboretum, on a summer morning, is a dappled refuge from the heat. The university is almost uncannily quiet at this time of year and Luke Amidala-Lars thought it might be nice to move our conversation outside.
> 
> “Frederick Law Olmsted was hired to design this place,” he explained, gesturing around at the winding paths and trellises. “He was already incredibly famous by then. But the scientists here, they had their own whole vision of how it should be laid out, because it’s an active research facility, too. All the letters that got sent back and forth are still in the archives here.” He was filled with random bursts of information like this — the local knowledge of a hometown boy combined with the pedagogical compulsion of an academic.
> 
> As we wandered through a section of conifers, Amidala-Lars admitted he rarely gets to see what the Arboretum looks like in the summer. This is something of an off-year for him. Normally by this time, he’d be in Bodh Gaya, India, the site of his academic research for the past twenty-three years. His editors at Theed University Press, however, wanted a finished book, not more excited emails from internet cafes, so Amidala-Lars chose to forego his annual trip.
> 
> “The problem with books is that at some point you have to sit down and actually write them,” he observed wryly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Hindi - Well done, wow. [back to the story]
> 
> 2 Saadat Hasan Manto (1912-1955) was a playwright and author, who wrote in Urdu. He is arguably best known for his short stories, particularly those about the Partition of India and Pakistan, such as “Toba Tek Singh” and “Thanda Ghosht (Cold Meat)”. See _Bitter Fruit: The Very Best of Saadat Hasan Manto_ , translated by Khalid Hasan. Jataka tales are stories about the previous births, both human and animal, of Shakyamuni Buddha, some of which are derived from the Buddhist Pali canon. These stories are somewhat similar to Aesop’s fables. [back to the story]


	2. Chapter 2

> Luke Skywalker, _Echoes in the Canyon_ (New York: Endor, 2003), 57.
> 
> “And give me one good reason I should help you,” the woman said, hand still on her holster.
> 
> Teo was already humming with anger besides her, Maya could feel it without even glancing at his face. She wasn’t sure if she was getting better at reading people through the Force or if Teo was just loud in this, the way he was loud in almost everything else.
> 
> “Because whatever they’re paying you, we can pay more,” Anjali said, making a subtle, cautionary hand signal to Teo. “What better reason could there be?”
> 
> The woman sat up and nodded. “That’s a compelling argument, my friend. Fine. You want passage to Gulshaan, you’ve got it. Hangar Bay Seven, in forty-five minutes.”
> 
> Anjali nodded and got up, Teo following.
> 
> “C’mon, Maya,” Teo said. “Let’s go.”
> 
> “I’ll be right behind you,” Maya said. Then she turned back to the woman they were about entrust their lives to. “What’s your name?” she asked.
> 
> “Does it matter?” the woman shot back. “I’ll get you there either way.”
> 
> “I was taught never to get on a stranger’s ship,” Maya replied.
> 
> The woman smirked. “Solid advice. I’m Kira Ulata, from the Canyon Wind Clan. And who are you?”
> 
> “I’m Maya.”

* * *

Luke’s climbing the side stairs in Apailana Hall, on his way back from his morning lecture, when he sees Poe thundering down the stairs the opposite way. His eyebrows are knit together, heavy with anger. It’s a startling contrast to his usual easy charm and Luke wonders what could have prompted it.

“Are you okay?” Luke asks, concerned, when they’ve both reached the landing.

“Not really. I am so fucking pissed,” Poe says, jaw set. “One of my advisees is a vet — just got a medical discharge this year — and one of his professors is refusing to let him make up a pop quiz that’s apparently worth thirty percent of the final grade. But he missed class for _medical_ reasons and it’s not like there was any advance warning about when this was going to happen. It’s ridiculous!”

Luke’s reminded, suddenly, that Poe comes from a military family, that his father is a career soldier and his mother is as much an Air Force pilot as Luke’s father was, before joining NASA. But unlike Luke, Poe actually grew up, lived his whole life, every day, with his mother and father’s dedication and nightmares and lack of romantic notions about what warfare is really like.

“What you’re describing violates university codes,” Luke says. “Has your student talked to the Office of Military and Veterans’ Affairs?”

“He told me that he was sure if he could just talk to the professor, he could still get it worked out,” Poe says, hands clenched into fists. “But given who the professor is, I really have my doubts.”

“Who’s the professor?” Luke asks.

Poe hesitates.

“I’ve found my colleagues are lot less likely to stick to their guns about this kind of thing when asked about it by a full professor with a famous last name and only one hand,” Luke says. “But either way, Leia’s not going to suddenly abandon you for trying to deal with this head-on. You’re advocating for your student. It’s what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“It’s Hux, that asshole in political science,” Poe says in rush. “And I’m not worried about whether Leia would have my back — I know she would — I’m worried that next time I see him I’m going to punch him in his smug face.”

“Dak would probably be right there with you. He really hates that guy,” Luke says. “I don’t think your student is the first time Hux has done something like this. You talked to Leia yet?”

“She wasn’t in and I was just . . . worked up, needed to take a walk,” Poe mutters.

“Hey,” Luke says, slow and clear, trying to catch Poe’s eye, like he does when he’s doing interviews. “You’re going to fix it — you’ll figure it out and your student will be fine. Just give yourself a second.”

Poe leans up against the wall with crossed arms, and looks down at the ground.

“Okay,” Luke says, quietly, letting the ambient noise of Apailana Hall settle around them. His adviser used to say that knowing how to respond with generosity, with time and silence, was as important as being able to come up with follow-up questions on the spot; give people the opportunity and they’d give you back things you could never have anticipated.

After another few moments, Poe abruptly raises his head and says, “Hey, that huge grant a bunch of people in poli-sci got — the one Hux is on, that the department made such a big deal about — that came from the Defense Department, right?”

“Yes,” Luke agrees, slowly, trying to parse out the significance and arriving at— “You’re right. It would really be such a shame if the DOD were to hear—”

“That one of their major grant recipients wasn’t respecting our country’s veterans?” Poe asks, teeth showing.

“I would imagine that would look quite bad for the department. If you just so happened to bump into the chair of the poli-sci department at, say, four-fifteen pm tomorrow when he gets out of his lecture in Jamillia Hall, I would definitely mention your concerns,” Luke says. “Maybe with my sister there, too.”

Poe laughs, a little feral. “I might do just that.”

Something in Luke’s stomach swoops, like he’s seventeen and coasting downhill too fast on his bike — no helmet, sunshine in his hair and in his eyes — just for the sake of it. That’s never a good sign, really, but Luke’s always been drawn to things that were dangerous for him and Poe’s smile is nothing if not that.

Poe turns on his heel, ready to continue down the stairs. “Hey, thanks,” he says, pausing for a moment.

“Any time,” Luke says, sincerely.

The next day, on his way out in the evening, he stops by Leia’s office, nominally to make sure she leaves campus at a reasonable hour.

“So I had interesting encounter with Pearson from poli-sci today,” Leia says, from behind her imposing desk.

“Did you?” Luke says.

Leia raises a knowing eyebrow at him. “He said he’s going to take care of it.”

“Good,” Luke replies.

“Poe mentioned you were the one who suggested ambushing Pearson,” Leia says.

“I do not recall ever using the term ‘ambush’,” Luke says. “I just mentioned that Pearson gets out of lecture at the time he does. Anyway, Poe was two-thirds of the way there. He just didn’t have the details and I did.”

Leia smiles. “You know, sometimes I think you wouldn’t have made such a bad politician after all.”

“Oh, no, that would have been a disaster,” Luke says.

Leia laughs. “So, you and Poe are buddies now?”

Luke shrugs, flushing slightly, because this is Leia and he knows she’s already got him figured out.

“Oh, Luke,” Leia says.

“Can we talk about something else?” Luke asks, pretty sure the question’s a futile one, at least in the long run. “For example, the fact that Rey’s decided Theed’s her first choice school?”

“Of course it is,” Leia says, like it should have been obvious to Luke, a foregone conclusion.

“I just didn’t know,” Luke says, lamely.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Leia says.

* * *

> Shara Bey and Terry Gross, interview, _Fresh Air with Terry Gross_ , NPR, February 5, 2001.
> 
> “TG: So what’s life been like for you and your family since you got back to Earth? Are you getting recognized at the grocery store now?
> 
> SB: Oh, not really. Where we live in Florida, everyone’s kind of used to astronauts by now. I think my husband is mostly just happy to see me on the ground. [ _Laughs_ ] But there are definitely some benefits. We had some kind of reception a couple weeks after the crew got back, and there were a lot of people there who have been big supporters of NASA, like Padme Amidala—”
> 
> TG: And there’s a personal connection there, Anakin Lars — Padme Amidala’s late husband — was the leader of the Mustafar mission. Really a tragic loss of that team, for NASA and the country.
> 
> SB: I agree, I agree. He was a remarkable test pilot and then a remarkable astronaut. His whole family has been really dedicated to honoring that legacy, and they were all there at this reception. My son, he’s thirteen now, and he’s a huge, huge fan of that sci-fi book, _Solar Wind, Arbor Rain_. And Luke Amidala-Lars is actually the author, under a pen name. So I smuggled in my son’s copy of the book in my purse, and asked Luke to sign it and he was really sweet about it and wrote a really nice note in it as well. So I felt like an especially rockin’ mom that day.”

* * *

The days trip over themselves in their rush toward winter and suddenly it’s already November, coming up on the big national religion conference and Thanksgiving.

Luke is department chair for the third year in a row, despite his best arguments for making the position a rotating responsibility. As a result, he has to deal with a flood of confused emails about the university’s new rules on travel funding at the same time that he’s trying to remember why he’d even proposed the paper he had, back in the spring.

Luke tells himself he’s going to start writing his conference paper, but then he can’t find his marked-up copy of _Orientalism_ and he needs it for his argument to be at all coherent. He remembers, belatedly, after spending a good half-hour searching his office, that he’d let Poe borrow it a few days ago for some last minute citation. So he heads down to the fourth floor to Poe’s office. He’s preoccupied, thinking through his presentation and the meetings with far-flung colleagues he’s going to have to set up between conference panels.

Which is why he doesn’t notice Poe’s in with a student until he’s already halfway through the door and Poe’s student has abruptly stood up, chair scraping the floor. Luke notices that he winces subtly, like the sudden movement was jarring.

“Oh. Um,” Luke says. He retreats a step, wondering why he hadn’t just done the obvious, polite thing and knocked first, even with the door cracked open. “Sorry. I’ll come back.”

“Hey, no, this is amazing timing, actually,” Poe says, looking up at Luke and grinning.

“Is it,” Luke replies, instantly wary. Poe’s student is still standing there, like he’s waiting for someone to say it’s okay to sit down.  

“Yup. Luke, this is Finn, one of my advisees,” Poe announces. “And Finn, this is Luke Amidala-Lars, a.k.a. Luke Skywalker.”

Finn smiles weakly and glances down, before sticking out his left hand to shake. Luke blinks in surprise — he has an arsenal of probably slightly tasteless amputation jokes he usually breaks out right about now — and shakes his hand. “It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, sir,” Finn says.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Luke replies. Being called sir always gives Luke the urge to look around, double-check that Bail Organa isn’t in the room and actually the one being addressed.

“Turns out Finn’s a _Star Wars_ fan, too,” Poe says, gesturing to his student. “He noticed my X-Wing model a couple weeks back. He didn’t know you taught here.”

Finn glares momentarily at Poe, then turns back to Luke and shrugs. “Uh, yeah. My unit used to read the books out loud a lot when we were just sitting around, on deployment.”

Luke nods, slowly, things starting to fall together — the drilled-in posture, the handshake, the off-hand mention of deployment — this must be Poe’s veteran advisee. “It always surprises me, hearing the places those books have traveled,” Luke says.  

Poe and Finn have some kind of silent, not particularly subtle conversation via facial expressions and then Finn reluctantly pulls something out of his bag. It’s a beat-up paperback copy of _Echoes in the Canyon_.

“I’m re-reading it. It’s my favorite, actually,” Finn confesses. “I know a lot of people like  _Tides Falling_ the best, because it got all dark and everyone’s really looking forward to knowing what happens next — not that I mind waiting! — but Teo’s story in this one—” he pauses and then finishes, more quietly, “I guess it’s just meant a lot to me.”

“I’ve got a soft spot for that one, too,” Luke says.

He thinks of it as Mara’s book, because he’d written most of it during the somewhat surreal year she’d been the Art School’s artist-in-residence, choreographing what would later become the Coruscant Variations. He still can’t pick up a copy of _Echoes_ without suddenly being transported back to the days he’d wake up to the sounds of Mara rummaging through the cabinets for breakfast foods, warm and at ease. But like anything written, anything shared, the book doesn’t belong to him alone anymore — so maybe it’s gone with Finn on planes and humvees, to military bases and finally to Theed, landing up here in front of Luke, familiar and unknown at the same time.

“Would,” Finn hesitates, “would you mind signing it?”

“Of course not,” Luke says.

Finn hands the book over — the corners are scuffed and the pages look warped from water damage. Luke pulls out a pen and, resting the book on the corner of Poe’s desk, scrawls,

_For Finn,_

_Best of luck as you set off on your own new adventures! Like Teo, Maya, and their friends, may you walk in light._

_Sincerely,_ _Luke Skywalker_

When Luke hands the book back, Finn traces a finger over the inscription and grins widely, looking terribly, terribly young. “Thanks,” Finn says.

“Of course,” Luke says. “Not a problem at all. Sorry for interrupting your meeting.”

“No, please,” Finn says. “I was actually just on my way out, anyway. Thanks, Poe. See you next week.”

“See you then,” Poe agrees.

“And uh, thank you, again, for signing the book,” Finn says to Luke, shouldering his bag. “It means a lot.”

“You’re very welcome,” Luke says, stepping aside to let Finn get through.

“Bye,” Finn says, giving a wave as he starts to walk off down the hallway.

He can’t be much older than Rey, Luke thinks, watching him turn the corner. Around the age Luke’s father would have been when he graduated the Air Force Academy, maybe. Would his father still be alive, at his mother’s side, if life had sent a stumbling block across his path to stars?

“Man, I remember that feeling,” Poe says, startling him out of his reverie with a faint smile. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, so his bare forearms are exposed, and suddenly Luke’s whole train of thought derails.

“What?” Luke asks, dry-mouthed and frankly embarrassed for himself.

“You know, being all starstruck, talking to Luke Skywalker for the first time,” Poe says.

“That’s not really who I am though,” Luke says, abruptly uncomfortable, re-buttoning his Nehru jacket just for something to do with his hand. “It’s a pen name, not a persona.”

“Hey, I know that,” Poe says, leaning forward over his desk a bit, eyes dark and earnest. “But he just met you. Right now, to him, you’re the guy whose books helped him through some difficult stuff. I know that’s not actually who _you_ are — you lend me books and study dead languages with nuns and take your students out for coffee when they need to talk to someone. I get it.”

“Right,” Luke says, swallowing. He’s caught in a sensation of being somehow recognized, like stumbling across a phrase that perfectly captures a thought he couldn’t articulate, like the reassuring warmth of catching a friend’s eye in a crowded lecture hall before he begins a talk.

“Also, knowing that you keep that ridiculous stash of chocolate in your desk kind of ruins any mystique you might have had,” Poe adds, smiling gently.

“Yeah, okay,” Luke huffs, looking down and almost laughing despite himself. “On that note, I should probably be getting back to said office.”

“Before you leave, you want to maybe mention why you came in to begin with?” Poe says, half-laughing.

“Oh,” Luke says, flushing. “You have my copy of _Orientalism_ that has my notes in it and I need it back.”

“You’re sure I have it?” Poe asks, eyes narrowing, as he puts his feet up on his desk, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes,” Luke says. “Really pretty sure.” If the book’s not with Poe and Luke’s actually lost it, he’s going to be unnecessarily morose about the whole thing, he already knows. He’s had that copy since college, and it’s been halfway around the world and back with him more than once. Even though he’s got a newer edition at home on some shelf, he prefers the old one.

Poe looks off to the side, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his chest, and then says, “You know what, you’re right. I do have it. At home.”

Luke sighs, half-relieved, half-irritated. “Of course.”

“Look, I’ll get it back to you. This weekend, I swear,” Poe promises, hand to his heart. “I’ll bring it with me to Sosha’s on Saturday.”

Realistically, Luke’s never going to actually finish his conference paper before then anyway and if he’s really motivated, he can always dig up his other edition.

“Okay,” he agrees, stepping back over the threshold. “But — I mean, I really like that copy.”

“And I will make sure the two of you are reunited,” Poe laughs. “Go write or something.”

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _To Raise the Dawn_ (New York: Endor, 2008), 36.
> 
> “Speaking as the cyborg in residence,” Teo cut in, “we have feelings, too, you guys.”
> 
> Anjali’s lips twitched, like she couldn’t help it. If Maya didn’t know better by now, the amusement would seem at odds with her straight-backed military posture and crisp uniform.
> 
> Maya couldn’t help but feel the odd one out once more, irritated and impatient and trying not to be either. During the weeks she’d been gone, running a survival training course with some other members of the ground crew, lending her experience with plants, it had been Anjali who visited Teo every day after physical therapy, Anjali who sat with Teo in the mess hall. And some time in those weeks, it seemed, something had shifted between them.
> 
> They moved around each other now like their limbs couldn’t help but be aware of the possibility of contact. It seemed that Teo, who she’d met before she could even remember, had started out on a journey that Maya could only witness from a distance, standing apart. But no — she wouldn’t indulge her petty sulking at being left behind. And what did it matter, anyway? They were all at war. There were more important things to think about. Kira had been right: You had to prioritize.
> 
> “Can we concentrate?” Maya asked, with what she knew was unnecessary curtness. “I’m trying to locate a Jedi master here.”
> 
> A frown flickered across Teo’s face before disappearing. “I was just making a joke,” he muttered.
> 
> “It was funny,” Anjali said, her eyes soft with affection.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, when Luke turns the corner to Sosha’s, Poe’s just getting out of his car in the parking lot.

“Oh, hey, perfect timing,” Poe says. Then he frowns and asks, in a sudden rush, “So, question for you: have you ever had a student just — take off their shirt in class?”

“What?” Luke asks, his eyebrows shooting up as they walk towards the door.

“Okay, so on Thursday, in my lecture, this kid — I guess the heat is turned up too high, it’s always really warm in the room. Whatever, do what you need to do, right?” Poe says, gesturing dismissively. “But this one kid, right before class starts, he’s taking off his sweatshirt, pulls it over his head and his shirt rides all the way up to his armpits. And instead of pulling it back down again, he carries on having this conversation with his buddy, who’s all the way across room. Just decided everyone needed the gift of seeing his abs, or something, I guess.” Poe sounds utterly incredulous. “Who _does_ that?”

Luke bites down on his lip, but still falls into hysterical laughter that leaves him breathless and slumped down against the wall for support. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s funny now, in the retelling,” Poe says, while Luke tries, and mostly fails, to gather himself. “But let me assure you, it was very, very odd at the time. No one wants to see all that when we’re trying to talk about the Panama Canal.”

Luke’s laugh subsides, after another moment or two, into a smile. “I just — so what did you do?”

“Nothing,” Poe says, sounding pained as he grabs the door and holds it open for Luke. “I was so baffled. I ignored it and pulled up the slides with the historical photos I wanted to share, and I guess canal building is really not sexy, because he fixed his shirt and sat down when class started.”

“Probably for best?” Luke offers. Walking in, he scans the restaurant — there’s an empty table in the corner by the front window. “Here good?”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees. He sits down with a sudden, heavy thump. “Fucking misadventures in teaching, huh?”

“Well, we could all write that book,” Luke says, pulling out his laptop.

Poe digs through his canvas backpack and then holds up Luke’s old beat-up copy of _Orientalism_. “See, just as promised,” he says, and slides it across the table. “So, why do you look like you want to murder your laptop?”

Luke sighs. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was better at controlling his expressions.

“My editor told me to get her the next chapter by Thanksgiving. And all I can think about is all the other stuff I need to get done before I leave for this conference,” Luke say, rubbing at his temple. “There’s my paper, and then I’m the respondent on another panel, so I have to make sure I actually read those papers before I get there. And then — we do these department dinners, over the conference days, right? And our alums come, meet our current grad students, it’s good — but they are such a clusterfuck to organize—”

Luke forces himself to stop and take a breath.

Poe looks bemused. “Did you just use the word ‘clusterfuck’? Who are you and what have you done with Luke Amidala?”

Luke tips his head down, shaking it with a smile, then looks back up at Poe. “What a helpful response, thank you,” he says.

“Hey, you just responded to my stripping student trial-by-fire story with hysterical laughter. I get to do whatever I want,” Poe says with a grin. “But seriously, where you did you pick that up?”

“Hannah, one of my grad students — she was my research assistant over the summer. She has quite the vocabulary when she hasn’t slept enough. I think I must have absorbed some of it,” Luke admits. “Also, ‘clusterfuck’ is a remarkably accurate description of the experience of being department chair.”

Poe grins, shaking his head, and says, “Look, why don’t you just deal with your conference shit first, since it’s clearly causing you to lose it. The book’s already what — three years overdue? So I don’t think your editor’s really going to be shocked if this chapter takes a little longer than promised.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. He hesitates and then asks, slowly, “Actually, what are you working on right now? Something you need to get done right away?”

“Just more book proposal stuff,” Poe sighs.

“Would you mind taking a look at what I’ve got of the chapter, then?”

“Hell yeah, are you kidding me?” Poe grins. “That is infinitely better than trying to convince academic presses that I’m a worthwhile risk.”

“Okay,” Luke says. “I’ll email it to you, then. I’m having trouble with the transition between Maya getting back to base and this scouting mission she and Teo go on, so if you could focus on that, I guess?”

“Yeah, for sure. Don’t worry, I’m a great editor,” Poe says, tipping his head sideways and smiling.

Luke can’t keep eye contact, not when he’s suddenly wondering what it would be like to taste that smile. “Okay,” he mumbles instead. “Should be in your inbox now.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his conference paper and all the emails he has to send, coordinating meetings with old friends and mentors he rarely otherwise sees, when Poe’s sitting across the table from him, reading Luke’s unfinished chapter, animated expressions flickering across his face, but Luke forces himself to, as much as possible.

Finally, Poe looks up from his screen, grinning. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“It works for me,” Poe says. “The bit you’ve got done, it’s a callback to the first book, when Maya and Teo found Anjali at the crash site, right?”

“So it’s not too heavy-handed?” Luke asks.

Poe shrugs. “I don’t think has to be subtle. It’s supposed to underline how much they’ve both been through since then, them growing up, growing apart. There’s probably some stuff you can cut, or streamline — like the bit with General Quanhaa? But I really think you’re fine.”

Luke takes a breath out, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding between his shoulder blades slowly dissipating. “Thanks. That’s actually very reassuring to hear,” he admits.

It would be so easy to just lean across the table, to brush his lips against Poe’s, say thank you in an entirely different way. And with that thought, Luke can feel the back of his neck go hot, a blush climbing to his cheeks, like he’s nineteen again and trying to find a way to ask the girl who sat next to him in his Romantic Poetry class out for coffee.

“You don’t have to get so flustered,” Poe laughs. “If you want real feedback, I can do that.”

“Not if it’s going to take up too much time,” Luke says, face still too warm.

“No, come on, I want to.”

“Okay,” Luke says, looking down at his computer screen, willing himself back into control. “I could send you the earlier stuff, so you have actual context?”

“Yeah. Definitely do that,” Poe replies.  

Just then Luke gets a text from Dak, which reads, _This thing happening in 508 or the seminar room?_

“Oh, damn it,” Luke says, glancing at the time and immediately starting to pack his bag.

“Something happen?” Poe asks.

“We’re doing conference presentation run-throughs for our grad students,” Luke says, slipping on his jacket. “I have to get to campus. I didn’t bring my car — I’m going to be so late.”

“Relax, I can drive you,” Poe says.

Luke pauses, a rush of warm gratitude at the offer and Poe’s unthinking, unhesitating manner. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, not a problem,” Poe says, already closing his laptop. “We’ll get you there — stop freaking out. Do some of that transcendental meditation, yoga breathing or whatever you do.”

“It’s not Transcendental Meditation. That is a whole other—” Luke breaks off.1 “Okay, you know what? I’m not even going to bother.”

Poe shrugs on his coat, doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement. “You are such an academic.”

“You’re just as bad,” Luke protests, as they both pay at the counter. “The other day — and I swear this is a direct quote — you said, ‘There’s something really satisfying about formatting citations.’”

“Because there is,” Poe says, pushing open the door with his shoulder. “You know, finishing off strong.” He grins, wicked.

“Okay,” Luke says, ignoring that for his own sanity, and follows Poe to his car. “Whatever you say.”

“Which you can apparently remember verbatim,” Poe says.

Luke slips into the room where they’re doing the practice presentations almost fifteen minutes late, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s started yet. Hannah and Lin are still getting the projector up and running when Luke drops into the seat next to Dak.

“Hey,” Dak mutters, “you didn’t forget, did you? You’re the one who put this together.”

“Just lost track of the time,” Luke whispers back.

Dak glances over at him, curious, but then Hannah’s PowerPoint is finally displaying. The cover slide is a photo she’d taken over the summer in Bodh Gaya. Hannah shuffles her papers and looks up from lectern at the front of the room, saying, “So I guess I’ll start, then?”

Two and a half hours, six practice presentations, a feedback session, and one brief coffee break later, they all disperse.

“Dak, you mind driving me home?” Luke asks, gathering his stuff.

“You walked over?” Dak asks, as they head out into the hallway. “Kind of cold for that, isn’t it?”

“Got a ride,” Luke says. Then, because Dak’s looking at him oddly, he asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Dak says, pausing before the door to the stairwell and smiling perplexedly. “You’re just being kind of spacy today. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just — you know. Thinking that life never fails to surprise me,” Luke says, pushing the door open with his shoulder. He’s caught between the desire to hold his secrets safe and the desire to say something more, admit out loud that he thinks he might already be in the midst of doing something he really didn’t intend.

“Yeah,” Dak agrees, still studying Luke thoughtfully. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Luke admits, limbs filled with the kind of giddiness he usually only gets when the weather turns towards spring as he starts down the stairs. “But I guess I’m actually feeling pretty good today, all things considered. Feeling like there’s a lot of potential.”

“In what, you hippie?” Dak asks, catching up with Luke and elbowing him, grinning.

“The world, Ralter,” Luke says. “Out there in the world.”

* * *

> Padme Amidala, Theed, CT, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Tosche, NM, October 17, 1985.
> 
> “I was watching the neighbor’s son playing in a leaf pile and I thought of you when you were that age. I expect you’ll find that embarrassing, but you shouldn’t. And while I miss you now, looking at the leaves, I am reassured when I call and hear you talk about the horses, the landscape, and of course Owen and Beru, with all the clear affection you’ve always had for them. When you were hurt, I worried that I might not see you joyful again, but you endured all the pain and the confusion with remarkable grace. I am far beyond grateful that you have come out the other side smiling again.”

* * *

By the time Luke and the vast majority of the religion department have gotten back from their conference, it’s days before Thanksgiving and the air in Theed is shot through with frost.

“Hey, Han, Chewie. Leia wanted me to remind you to pick up the turkey from the farmer’s market guy,” Luke says, ducking his head into the workspace proper of the garage.

“Yeah, yeah,” Han mutters. “Tell her highness to calm down and let me handle it.”

“Okay, I’m definitely not going to do that,” Luke says. Sometimes he thinks the real miracle of his life is that Leia and Han’s marriage hasn’t involved any homicide at all. “Rey here?”

“Yeah, she’s done for the day. She’s just out back with the Falcon,” Han says.

Luke ducks out back and finds Rey sitting inside the Falcon with the front passenger door ajar, resting her feet upon the dash, wrapped in her coat. She’s smiling to herself.

“Had some kind of breakthrough?” Luke asks.

“Huh?” Rey says, sitting up suddenly, blinking.

“Were you working on the Falcon?”

“Not today. Just thinking.” She still seems flustered.

“Okay. Well, as promised,” Luke says, holding up his phone to demonstrate he’s sent Rey his newest chapter. They’ve set up a writing barter system that Luke’s pretty sure Rey is somehow manipulating. Luke’s decided not to object, because for once his editor is actually borderline pleased with his progress.

Rey nods but doesn’t seem to have been listening, really.

“You’re acting sort of oddly,” Luke observes.

“I’m not acting oddly,” Rey insists, shaking her head fiercely. “I’m being completely normal.”

Rey’s starting to blush, which is both somewhat hilarious and rather bizarre — Luke’s seen her dress down impolite customers, face flushed with anger, but she doesn’t embarrass easily.

“Yes. This is definitely what I would call completely normal behavior for you,” Luke says.

Rey lets out an exasperated puff of air. “I just — There was a boy in here, today, and well — I almost got into . . . an _argument_ , let’s say, with him—”

“Rey,” Luke sighs.

“I thought he’d done something stupid to his car engine! Only it turns out it wasn’t his fault at all. And he was really nice about it. And we’re maybe going to hang out soon, I think. And I’m not ready to talk about it, okay?”

Luke blinks. He wants to ask how exactly one goes from on the verge of fighting someone over car repair to the kind of ‘maybe hanging out soon’ that induces blushing. Then he thinks about it and decides that he would actually rather not know, especially if Rey’s not at the point of sharing yet.

“Okay,” Luke says. “That’s nice. Or I assume it is?”

“It’s nice,” Rey mutters. Then she grins. “Anyway, we should be talking about you.”

“Really.”

“Saw you going into Sosha’s with a guy in a peacoat last week, before you went to your conference. He held the door for you.”

“Which is the polite thing to do,” Luke points out.

“Han says Peacoat Man has a thing for you,” Rey says.

“Han is a terrible influence on you.”

Rey rolls her eyes pointedly.

Luke sighs. “Go get in the driver’s seat.”

“You’re letting me drive?” Rey asks, getting out of the car and going around the front to get behind the wheel. “Is this discussion going to be so serious that you won’t be able to concentrate?”

“No. I just hate driving this car. Besides, we’re clearing our heads,” Luke offers. “And possibly annoying Han in the process.”

Rey thinks about this for a moment and nods, putting her key in the ignition. “Works for me,” she says.

“Okay,” Luke says, as they pull out away from the garage, apparently headed toward the beachfront. “You can ask. About the man in the peacoat.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” Rey says staunchly, and Luke feels a surge of affection for her and the way she’s always repeating his own words back to him, differently.

“I know that. I’m offering.”

“Okay,” Rey says. She’s silent for a while, thumb tapping on the steering wheel. As she turns them down a side street, she finally asks, “He was Leia’s student, right? Did you know him before?”

“Not really,” Luke says. “I mean, I had met him.”

“And now?” Rey prompts.

“And now,” Luke says, “he’s not Leia’s student anymore. And he’s — he’s a good person.”

“So, you have a thing for him, too?” Rey asks, glancing over.

Luke laughs a little, shoulders loosening with the confession. “Apparently, yeah.”

“So what are you worried about?”

Luke considers this. “A lot of things,” he says. “He’s a new hire and I don’t want people assuming the university’s keeping him on because of me.”

“But he’s good at his job, right? He’s good at being a historian and teaching and all of that?”

“Of course.”

“So anyone thinking that would be wrong,” Rey says easily. “Are there other reasons?”

“I think I just got very used to my life being a certain way,” Luke says, slowly. “And it was good. It’s . . . disconcerting, to be reconsidering that.”

“You were laughing, you know, when I saw you two,” Rey says, glancing over at him. “The kids at school think you’re so serious — they don’t believe me when I tell them you actually make terrible jokes all the time.”

“Trying to sabotage my reputation?” Luke asks.

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” Rey says, as she pulls into a parking spot by the beach, near the diner the fishermen frequent, and idles the engine.

“I think I’m pretty funny. At least some of the time,” Luke protests.

“Sure,” Rey says. “Actually, can I be serious for a second?”

“Of course.”

“I know if anything happened, I could come to you. But I guess sometimes I worry about who’s there for you.”

“You,” Luke says immediately, because it’s important. “Leia, Han, my mother. Ben. Dak and Aditi.”

“And this guy?”

“I — yeah. Him, too,” Luke says, thinking about Poe, who fights for his students, who looks gleeful talking about old archaeologists’ journals, who would never turn away someone asking for his help. Poe, who offered to read Luke’s chapter, smiled over it, and drove him to campus without thinking twice about the inconvenience. It’s too much faith, probably, to place on a friendship as new as his and Poe’s, but it feels possible. It feels true.

“Well, that’s good, then, right?” Rey asks.

“Yeah,” Luke says quietly. “His name’s Poe, by way. Poe Dameron. So you can stop calling him Peacoat Man.”

“Poe Dameron,” Rey repeats. “That’s a good name.”

“Your new friend have a good name?” Luke asks.

Rey clicks her tongue at him. “Shut up,” she says, suddenly blushing again, like earlier. “But for your information, yes, I think he has a nice name. Which I’m not telling you yet.”

Luke has to laugh, at least a little, but then he shuts up, as requested. Rey and he sit quietly for a few minutes, listening to the waves crashing up against the sand.

“Want to go to the diner?” Luke finally asks.

“Milkshakes?” Rey asks, solemn.

“Let’s do it,” Luke agrees.

When they get back to the garage later, Han comes out, throwing up his arms and yelling, “Stop stealing my car, kid!”

Rey immediately points at Luke and says, “It was his idea.”

“You should stop giving people the key if you don’t want them borrowing it,” Luke says, shrugging.

Han walks away muttering, “The shit I put up with.”

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _To Raise the Dawn_ (New York: Endor, 2008), 97.
> 
> “I say we call Kira Ulata,” Teo interjected, serious and sounding older, the way he did sometimes now, since the battle at Kharifa. “We know she’s on-planet and we need help.”
> 
> “Captain Ulata is not a member of the Rebellion,” Anjali said, cooly, altogether different in her address than she had been just days ago, before Maya had landed them all in this mess. “And we have orders — this isn’t something we want getting out. If we endanger the mission, we endanger Maya. That’s not something we can afford. The Empire thinks she’s dead and we want to keep it that way.”
> 
> “Respectfully, _sir_ ,” Teo said, teeth gritted, “I don’t think us getting stranded here in this cesspit was exactly what Command had in mind when they said keep things quiet. And Maya should get to decide for herself what’s a worthwhile risk.” He turned to Maya, arms crossed expectantly.
> 
> “Kira took the reward and left,” Maya said, unable to smooth away the spark of anger that raised — she had thought she’d understood Kira’s decision, but the more time passed, the less sense it made. The fight against the Empire needed people like Kira, steeped in the knowledge and the history of what had come before the Empire, still preserved in the Clan Halls despite the Inquisitors’ best attempts to burn all traces of the past away. “She made her decision, Teo.”
> 
> “But she came back for us, first,” Teo countered. “And she’ll come through for us now, if the two of you can just get over your frakking pride and accept that we messed this mission up.”
> 
> Anjali looked down and away, biting her lip in a tell that even years of military training hadn’t smoothed out of her.
> 
> “I’m sorry,” Teo said, immediately contrite, reaching out but not quite touching Anjali’s elbow. “I know you’re doing your best. It’s not your fault — you couldn’t have predicted that TIE Fighter Squadron.”
> 
> “Lieutenant, that’s enough,” Anjali said, taking a step away, sounding tired suddenly. “You’re right, the priority has to be getting ourselves out of here. Maya?”
> 
> Maya swallowed, then nodded. “Let’s call her.”

* * *

It’s early afternoon on Thanksgiving and Luke’s at Leia and Han’s house, perched on the kitchen counter reading recipe instructions to Chewie and Han, when Dak calls.

“So. Our car broke down off University Avenue and Highcrest,” Dak says, without bothering with any greetings.

“Oh man,” Luke says. “How annoyed is Aditi right now?”

“I’d say she’s pretty displeased.”

“Displeased!” Luke hears Aditi’s voice in the background. “Dak, give me the phone. Luke,” she says, now more clearly, “I am sorry. I know you all must be very busy with the cooking.”

“No, come on, don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly in the middle of anything vital,” Luke says.

“What’s going on?” Han asks.

Luke tilts his phone away from his mouth for a moment. “Dak’s car broke down off Highcrest,” he explains.

“They want me to come look at it?”

Luke repeats the question to Aditi, who sighs. There’s mumbling in the background on her end and then she says, “No, there’s no need for all that. Do you think you could just come jump the car for us? Dak _claims_ that is all that needs to be done.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” Luke says. “ _Sab thik ho jayega, Aditi-behan_."2

“ _Shayad_ ,” Aditi says.3 She sounds distinctly dubious. “We shall see.”

Luke heads out of the kitchen to grab his coat.

“Where are you going?” Leia asks, pausing in her attempt to find more space on the bookshelves in the living room for the volumes that had been stacked on the coffee table.

“Dak and Aditi’s car broke down again,” Luke says, unable to hide his amusement. “I’m going to go rescue them.”

“And on Thanksgiving, too,” Leia says, starting to smile herself. “Aditi must be so pleased.”

“Yeah, I should probably get there before she sets the car on fire with her mind somehow,” Luke says.

On his way out, Luke grabs the jumper cables from the Falcon and drives over towards campus. When he gets to the corner of University and Highcrest, Dak and Aditi are both standing by their car.

“I swear,” Aditi mutters, pressing her fingers to her forehead, “this car — I cannot deal with it anymore. We should just leave it at the side of the road.”

“Honey,” Dak says, “this is a completely manageable problem.”

“I brought the jumper cables,” Luke says, holding them up. “Let’s see if we can get this thing running again, before you swear vengeance.”

“Too late,” Anand says, opening the back right door of the car to assess the situation.

“You can fix it, right?” Malini asks, leaning over from her seat.

“Hopefully,” Luke says. Dak shoots him a look, so he amends that to, “Probably.” Once he’s gotten the cables hooked up between his car engine and Dak’s, he starts his car again. After giving it a few minutes, Luke says, “Try now?” to Anand, who’s climbed into the driver’s seat of Dak’s car.

The car comes sputtering back to life, managing somehow to sound angry about it.

“Yay,” Malini says from the back seat.

“That actually worked. I am shocked,” Aditi says, clapping her hands together.

“Thanks,” Dak says, clapping Luke on the shoulder. “Oh, hey!”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Aditi adds.

Luke turns around to see who Dak and Aditi are talking to. It’s Poe, standing on the sidewalk, his coat collar turned up against the wind, a knit hat slightly off-center over his curls. He’s with a woman Luke recognizes as Commander Shara Bey and a man who couldn’t be anyone but Poe’s father.

“Hey,” Poe says, grinning. “Happy Thanksgiving! You guys having a little trouble there?” Poe asks, nodding towards Dak and Aditi’s car.

“Everything’s fine, now,” Dak says, crossing his arms.

“Because Luke came to jump the car,” Aditi says, shaking her head. “Considering the state this car is in, I think he may have performed a miracle.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular hierophany,” Dak says to Luke.

“But these must be your parents?” Aditi continues.

“Yup,” Poe says, grinning and bouncing up to the balls of his feet. “I was just showing them around campus.”

“Again,” his father says dryly. “It still looks pretty much like it did when you were in college.”

“Yeah, but now I’ve got an office and everything,” Poe says.  

“Be polite and introduce us, _mijo_ ,” Commander Bey says.

“Mama, Pops — Dak and Aditi. They both teach at Theed, too. And this is Luke. Everyone, my mom and dad, Shara Bey and Kes Dameron.”

“We met once, I think,” Luke says.

Commander Bey tips her head to the side just slightly and narrows her eyes. “That’s right,” she says slowly. “You’re Padme Amidala’s son.”

Just then, Anand and Malini get out of the car, presumably to figure out what the hold-up is. “Wow,” Malini says, staring at Commander Bey, wide-eyed. Anand looks at her and snickers quietly, shaking his head.

“These are our kids,” Dak says, slinging an arm around Anand’s shoulders. He’s taller than Dak now.

“Anand and Malini,” Aditi says.

Commander Bey smiles at them both and waves. “Hey. Nice to meet you both.”

Malini’s still staring at Commander Bey. Anand elbows her and she scowls at him. Commander Bey politely ignores Malini’s clear awe, though she shares a look with her husband and grins briefly.

“So, what’s a hierophany, anyway?” Poe asks, turning to Luke.

“A manifestation of the sacred on earth,” Luke answers, almost automatically, as if he’s back in school and taking an oral exam.

“Like Jesus?” Poe asks, smiling. Kes Dameron looks at the ground, shaking his head slightly, though he might be smiling, too.

“Uh, no,” Luke says, feeling himself getting scrutinized by Poe’s amused-looking mother. “More like stones and natural phenomena like—”4

“Trees?” Poe offers.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, finding himself smiling too. “Trees, too.”

“Hierophany’s kind of a helpful term, but it can end up sliding into generalization,” Dak muses. Aditi smoothes an affectionate hand over his shoulder and that in combination with Anand and Malini’s glazed expressions seems to remind Dak that this isn’t his undergrad Theories and Methods in Religion class. “But I’m sure you all have better things to do on Thanksgiving than listen to us discuss the problems with universalism,” he says to Poe’s parents.

“Probably a safe assumption most of the time,” Luke says, sticking his hand in his coat pocket.

“Not with this one in the family,” Commander Bey says, pushing at Poe’s shoulder affectionately.

“Okay, okay,” Poe says, leaning against his mother for a moment. “You guys are in town for less than twenty-four hours and you’re already mocking me.”

“What else are we here for, huh?” Kes Dameron asks.

Poe shakes his head, but he’s grinning. Turning to Luke, he asks, “How’d the conference go?”

“It was good,” Luke says. “No real emergencies. No one got too aggressive with our students in their panel sessions.”

“No one got nervous enough to vomit,” Dak adds. Kes looks a little alarmed at that and Aditi closes her eyes and shakes her head, clearly embarrassed for Dak. Commander Bey, however, grins.

“That’s . . . also true,” Luke says. “We’ve never actually had that happen,” he feels compelled to add, though that only seems to make Commander Bey more amused.

“Oh, good,” Poe laughs. “I actually meant how did _your_ papers go?”

Dak grins. “Come on, Dameron. We both killed, per usual.”

Luke glances over to Aditi, who’s smiling indulgently now, which makes Luke chuckle. “Yeah, things went well for us, too. Got some useful feedback.”

“Good. We’ll catch up next week, maybe?” Poe says.

Luke nods. “Yeah, sounds good,” he says, very aware that Aditi is looking at him, her head tilted a little, like when she’s encountered something odd and interesting in her reading.

“Could you tell your mother we all say hello and happy Thanksgiving?” Commander Bey asks.

“Of course,” Luke agrees.

Poe and his parents wave good-bye as they head off down Highcrest.

“So,” Dak says, looking over at Luke and raising his eyebrows. Luke concentrates on gathering the jumper cables and getting his car hood down again. “Jesus, huh?”

“What does that mean? Dad?” Malini asks, frowning.

Aditi shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Never mind.”

“What?” Malini repeats, looking at Anand, who just shrugs. “Is it about me? Was I being super weird?”

“You’re always weird,” Anand says.

“No, it wasn’t about you, I promise,” Luke tells Malini.

Dak comes over to pull down his own car hood and says more quietly, “Is that why _you’ve_ been kind of weird lately?” He looks too amused for Luke’s comfort.

“It’s been an unexpected couple of weeks,” Luke says, which is the truth.

“Dak,” Aditi says, clicking her tongue. “Come on, we’re already late.”

Luke catches her eye and Aditi smiles a little.

When they all get back to the house, Leia asks, hand on her hips, “What took you so long?”

“Something really wrong with the car?” Han asks, from the kitchen.

“Nah,” Dak says, shedding his coat. “It lives to ride another day.”

“Not for long,” Aditi mutters ominously, which makes Malini and Anand both laugh.

“We ran into Poe and his parents,” Luke explains, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Mom. “Commander Bey says hi and happy Thanksgiving.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Mom says, grinning and reaching up to fix Luke’s shirt collar.

Leia raises her eyebrows at them both.

“What?” Luke mutters to her, when she keeps looking at him knowingly as they trail behind everyone into the living room.

“You tell me,” she says.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Luke says, feeling the urge to rub at the back of his neck. “It was nice bumping into them. Poe seemed really happy that his parents are in town.”

“Okay,” Leia replies, as they both collapse onto the couch. Her tone indicates she’s hardly letting this go, which Luke should have expected really.

“What’re we talking about?” Han asks, coming out of the kitchen to perch on the armrest.

“You,” Luke answers in unison with Leia.

“Yeah, yeah,” Han says. “The pair of you are hilarious.”

“We are gifted,” Luke replies.

“From birth,” Leia says, smiling.

* * *

> Leia and Luke Amidala-Lars, “Raise Your Voice — Use Your Vote,” _The Hartford Courant_ , September 22, 1988.
> 
> “This election is a referendum on the policies of the Palpatine administration and we are the generation that has come of age under it. Do we want four more years of what will amount to a continuation of Palpatine’s power, or will we demand better?
> 
> Across the nation and here in our own home state, this election cycle has heralded a surge in youth political engagement, disproving the accepted wisdom that young people are disinterested in our nation’s politics and future. Now we urge you to take that momentum to the national polls.”

* * *

After Thanksgiving, the end of the semester is suddenly right around the corner — as the final suddenly looms in front of them, attendance in Luke’s Devotionalism in South Asia class visibly increases.

“At least those couple of people in the back who kept skipping have started showing up again,” Hannah says as they’re walking back. “That’s good, right?”

“They’ve just suddenly remembered that grades are a thing,” grumbles Lin.

“All right,” Luke says, “let’s be not be so cynical. It’s possible they’ve discovered a somewhat belated love of learning.”

When they get to the fifth floor, Hannah and Lin scatter off to the TA office and the lounge, respectively, and Luke heads to his office.

It’s afternoon and Luke is putting together a lecture outline when someone knocks on his door.

“Come in,” Luke calls, trying to remember if he'd scheduled an appointment — Lin had ended up coming by yesterday, though, to talk about her grant applications — but when the door opens, it's Poe, his glasses low on his nose, his shirt sleeves rolled up around his elbows, holding a mostly empty cup of coffee. His hair is a mess of curls — it’s getting a little bit too long, unless he’s planning to start pulling it back.

"So, I hear you've been telling your undergrads that the best love poetry in the world was written for gods and goddesses," Poe says, pushing his glasses back up as he slouches down in the chair he's taken over and puts his feet up on Luke's desk — without asking, of course.

"Wasting your time gossiping?" Luke asks, looking pointedly at Poe's shoes. "Don't you have an article deadline coming up?"

Poe makes a face, but takes his feet off the desk. "I came here so you could distract me, not so you could remind me of all the things I should be doing."

"I am not enabling you," Luke replies. "Go back to your office and write."

Poe grimaces. "But I hate everything right now. Everything I write is garbage and I would much rather talk about how all these kids in my lecture are currently in love with you because you had them read _the most amazing poetry_ in your class. What's with that, anyway? You’re basically an anthropologist."

"Shockingly, I am capable of doing more than one thing, as necessary. And I'm glad to hear that they enjoyed class. I try to keep it engaging," Luke says. He's not about to touch the rest of that.

"Uh-huh," Poe agrees. "Did you recite anything for them?"

"No, not today."

"Need to practice first?" Poe asks, faux-sympathetic. "I'm open to being your test audience."

Luke raises his eyebrows, in the skeptical way his mother has always said was his Uncle Owen coming out in him. "You want me to recite a poem to you?"

Poe grins now. Luke wishes he could rewind the last few minutes, actually consider what he'd said before saying it. He handles this kind of thing better when he’s had the chance to prepare himself, get his head in order, or maybe it’s just that he'd like to think so.

"Well, I definitely wouldn't say no," Poe says. "Unless you don't have anything prepared offhand."

"I'm not falling for that blatant baiting," Luke says primly.

"You've definitely got something memorized, though," Poe replies, so utterly sure that he knows Luke by now.

It's true. Luke does have something, many things, memorized. And the opportunity — it's almost definitely stupid to take it, but Luke's lived long enough to have some idea where his talents lie.

"Okay," Luke finds himself saying. "Sure. Just the ending of something."

Poe sits up and nods, hands on the chair's armrests.

Luke looks down, at the edge of his desk, because the moment feels too weighted, already.

" _Like lilies that blossom under the full moon's light, I open to him in this rain: every pore of my body is cooled,"_ Luke quotes, remembering the spring he'd first read the poem, the person he'd been — nineteen, recently arrived at Berkeley from that year on his aunt and uncle’s ranch, astounded and half-wondering if he could ever give himself over to love as completely as the poet had. Luke still isn’t sure, though the poem always makes him yearn for the capacity, at least. " _Mira's separation and torment are over. He who comes to those who love has remembered his promise._ "5

When Luke lets himself look up again, Poe's got his head tilted slightly sideways, eyes closed.

"Luke Amidala-Lars," Poe finally says, opening his eyes and giving a dramatic sigh that's undercut by the following soft smile, "you are really something else."

"That's what they tell me," Luke agrees, rapping his knuckles on his desk, filled with a bubbling restless energy.

Poe's just sitting there, smiling, and it makes the back of Luke's neck itch, go hot.

"You should really go write that paper," Luke says.

"You're right," Poe declares. "Come on, let's get coffee. Coffee will help me concentrate."

Luke stares, baffled. "You were literally drinking coffee when you came in here. How many cups are you even drinking in a day? That can't be good for you."

"Worried about my heart?" Poe asks, standing up, leaning across Luke's desk slightly, his too-knowing smile all teeth now. "Better come with me, then. Make sure I don't collapse in a stairwell."

Luke, like any good academic, usually has only too many words at his disposal, but faced with Poe, they all seem to escape him — run out of his brain by some unholy combination of helplessly amused exasperation, spine-shaking attraction, and a profound desire to be Poe's friend.

"You are unbelievable," Luke finally manages.

* * *

> Poe Dameron, personal email to Jessika Pava, February 11, 2016.
> 
> “I think the job talk went well. Were I a more self-absorbed person, I would go so far as to say I totally rocked it, actually. But in all seriousness, people seemed pretty enthusiastic. I really want this one to work out. It’s hard to imagine moving again, starting over (even though I am so ready to be fucking done with grad school), but working at Theed would be like going home, kind of, only with fewer hurricanes. Always a plus.
> 
> Oh, by the way, our favorite sci-fi writing religionist was there at my talk, which was kind of a surprise — I didn’t even notice until halfway through. He’s still sticking with that wearing black on black schtick and in turn, I am apparently still really into it. At least you can always count on me to be consistent?
> 
> Before you ask, yes, I asked him when the next book’s coming out. He was super cagey and unhelpful about it, so don’t get your hopes up. But also he started blushing? So over all, I’m counting that as an unanticipated win.”

* * *

_In grading hell. Pretty sure I’m scaring away the other patrons in Sosha’s. Want to come join me in my misery?_ Poe texts.

 _When you make it sound so appealing, how can I say no? Give me about a half hour._ Luke responds.

When he reaches Sosha’s, it’s fairly empty — it’s mid-afternoon on the Monday after the last day of finals, so most of the students and a good chunk of the faculty and staff have already left town — and Poe’s sitting off in the back corner, looking slightly crazed.

“Holding up okay?” Luke asks, dropping his stuff onto a chair on the opposite side of the table from Poe. He doesn’t look like he remembered to brush his hair today — it’s gone wild and untamed from the snow and the wind and his evident frustration.

“Well, I have four more twenty-page papers left to grade and—” Poe checks his watch, “eight hours until grades are due and the word historiography is starting to look completely nonsensical to me.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Luke agrees. “You need more coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Poe says. “I thought you were concerned about my caffeine addiction.”

“I am,” Luke says. “But I’m also concerned about you getting your work done so you can get out of town. Aren't you leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Poe says. “It’s going to be great. I don’t even care that my abuelo is almost definitely going to guilt us all into going to midnight mass because I’ll actually be able to get a decent Cuban sandwich and not have to slog through butchered citations.''

“I’ve always thought there was something atmospheric about midnight mass,” Luke says. “All the candles and the people.”

“What, like, Durkheim’s — what’s the expression?”

“Collective effervescence?” Luke offers.6 “Someone doesn’t remember his intro anthro class anymore.”

“It was a long time ago and in my defense I was kind of busy being angry about the period-typical racism,” Poe says. “So besides experiencing collective effervescence with all the other Christmas and Easter Catholics, what’re you doing this break? You guys have some big formal Christmas dinner, Leia was saying?”

“Every year. It’s always an exercise in patience,” Luke says. “Which our family does not exactly have in spades. Here, give me your mug,” Luke says.

When Poe hands Luke the mug, their fingers brush and Luke feels faintly ridiculous for being so conscious of it.

Luke heads over to the counter, where Thao’s on shift.

“Hey, Luke,” Thao says. “What can I get you?”

“Cup of hot chocolate and a slice of pie? Whatever you think is good today,” Luke says, “and a coffee refill for the black hole of despair in the back.”

“That dude is stressing me out,” Thao says. “You sure he needs more coffee?”

“Probably not,” Luke says, “but if he keels over, you can blame it on me.”

“Okay,” Thao grins. “I’ll get those over to you in just a sec.”

“Thao’s going to bring you another coffee in a minute,” Luke says, on his return.

“You’re great,” Poe declares. “I take back most of the times I mocked you for that collection of herbal teas in the Religion department lounge.”

“That was almost touching, before you ruined it,” Luke replies, sitting down and pulling out his laptop.

“How is it you look so sane right now?” Poe asks, shaking his head.

“We’re actually done with grading,” Luke admits.

“How?” Poe asks wonderingly, making the query sound more existential than literal.

“I’ve got two TAs and we did a final exam, not a final paper,” Luke says. “We split up the blue books in thirds and did the multiple choice on scantron sheets.”

Poe makes a face. “I hate you a little, right now. I can’t believe you’re finished grading.”

“The Lord has indeed been gracious with me and the distribution of TAships in the department,” Luke says.

“You’re going to get struck by lightning one of these days,” Poe says.

“Honestly, that’s not really high up my list of concerns,” Luke replies.

“Are you just here to gloat?” Poe asks. “Because that’s rude.”

“Well, I also promised Thao I would take responsibility for your corpse if you spontaneously combust in here,” Luke offers.

“That he did,” Thao agrees, coming up to their table. “Hot chocolate and a slice of cherry apple pie for you,” she says, putting down a plate in front of Luke, “and more black coffee, again, for you,” she adds, placing the mug down in a free space among Poe’s stacks of papers.

“You are a god among mortals,” Poe says.

“Don’t know that I would go that far myself, but thanks, Professor Dameron,” Thao says.

“So, what are you working on, if you’re done with grading?” Poe asks Luke.

“Trying to get this conversation between Maya and Kira to actually sound like something living human beings would say,” Luke says. “Rey keeps harassing me about when the next chapter’s going to be done.”

“Please tell me you’re going to send _me_ that,” Poe says.  

“If I ever finish it,” Luke says. “And assuming you survive this marathon grading session.”

“I can’t think of a better reason to power my way through than getting the satisfaction of Maya and Kira finally admitting to each other that they want to make out.”

“Okay, I did not promise that,” Luke protests. “Temper your expectations.”

“I still can’t believe you’re trusting a seventeen-year-old with the chapters before your editor even sees them,” Poe says.

“She’s eighteen in four days, as she keeps reminding me,” Luke says. “I’m not entirely without regrets. She keeps threatening to go locate the old yearbooks at the Academy and find my school portraits if I don’t keep on schedule.”

“Oh — oh my God, that reminds me — I can’t believe I forgot about this,” Poe says, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “I don’t know if you know this, but I was at the Academy giving a guest lecture for the AP World History class last week, and there are totally still pictures of you and Leia hanging around in there. I mean, in the display cabinets and stuff. You kind of look like the awful rich kids in an eighties teen movie,” Poe informs him.

“One, it _was_ the eighties. And two, we weren't that bad," Luke protests, weakly.

"Really? Come on, there are pictures. You can't tell me you weren't at least a little bit of a prep school brat."

Luke barely resists the urge to cover his face with his hand — years of undergrad teaching have taught him to rein in visible signs of weakness.

"I did fence," he admits, despite himself. He can feel himself starting to blush, which is ridiculous.

Poe's grin blooms across his face. "You _fenced_ ," he echoes, like this is the most delightful thing he's heard all day. "Of course you did. Were you any good?"

"I did okay," Luke says.

"Uh-huh." Poe's still smiling behind his coffee mug and Luke’s whole chest feels warm from it. "You know what?" Poe says, stretching. "I'm feeling great, now. That image is going to power me through the rest of these essays."

"Glad you find the thought of fifteen-year-old me getting hit with foils so appealing," Luke says.

"Hey, you at any age is appealing to me," Poe replies, grinning widely.

"I can't imagine why," Luke says, glancing down, smiling.

Poe raises an eyebrow and leans in across the table, all wicked mirth, and says, "Really? I could specify. Like, for example, I think that thing you do where you duck your head when you smile is pretty appealing."

Luke clears his throat, and pushes, lightly, at Poe’s chest, which feels more daring than it should. His fingers want to linger on Poe’s collarbone, but his capacity for concentration requires the safe distance. "Grades are due _tonight_ , Poe. Focus."

“Fine. But only because I am a professional,” Poe agrees.

They sit quietly, working steadily, until it’s evening, the winter darkness punctuated by people’s Christmas lights, and then Poe sits up, rubbing his eyes and says, sounding faintly amazed, “I’m actually done. I have finished. I am free. Except for actually inputting the grades.”

“Then go home and take a nap,” Luke advises. “You look terrible.”

“I am going to ignore that insult, because that’s actually solid advice,” Poe says, tucking the graded papers into a portfolio.

“Before you go, I’ve got something for you,” Luke says, steeling himself. He’s faced more frightening things than Poe Dameron, tired and still somehow beautiful, though it hardly feels that way at the moment.

“Oh, are you the one who has my new Hegel translation?” Poe asks, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“No, it’s — it’s a gift,” Luke says, digging the gift-wrapped book out of his bag and sliding it across the table.

Poe looks at him, eyes warm, and picks up the gift, feeling the weight of it. Then he tears open the wrapping paper, jaggedly, turns the book over with careful hands and flips gently through the pages.

“It’s Mirabai, the same poet I was teaching in my Devotionalism in South Asia class,” Luke explains, feeling the thud of his rapid heartbeat.

“The one you were quoting,” Poe murmurs, holding up the open book to his nose, taking in the scent of the binding.  

“Yeah,” Luke says, feeling exposed, jittery. “We don’t actually know much about her, historically, but she was from Rajasthan, in India, probably lived sometime around the turn of the sixteenth century. She was a Krishna devotee — wanted to marry god.”

“And did she?” Poe asks, resting the book against his chest, his hands holding it there, like a shield over his sternum.

“Well, something like that.”

“Good for her,” Poe says, suddenly grinning widely, his laugh lines appearing.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, faintly. “This version’s kind of introductory, but two actual poets did the arrangements of the translations, so—”

“Luke,” Poe says, interrupting, putting the book carefully back on the table, out of the way of their mugs, then grabbing Luke’s hand and tracing his thumb over the line of Luke’s knuckles. “Thank you.”

Luke’s half-undone by the intimacy of the gesture, the warmth of Poe’s hand on his. “You’re welcome,” Luke makes himself murmur, because he was taught to be polite.

“I have something for you, too,” Poe says, then frowns, bringing his hands up to tug through his hair in frustration, before dropping them again in resignation, “but I don’t have it with me.”

“It’s fine,” Luke says, warmed by the way Poe’s now tracing a finger over the cloth-bound cover of the poetry collection. “Some other time.”

“Tomorrow,” Poe says, with the weight of a promise. “I’ll come by your house before I leave, okay?”

“Okay,” Luke agrees.

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Tides Falling_ (New York: Endor, 2012), 38.
> 
> “So you’re really leaving, huh,” Kira said, looking not at Maya, but at her spanner. “What happened to all that ‘the Rebellion needs us’ crap you said when you were convincing me to stay?”
> 
> “It’s not like that — I’ve got to go,” Maya said, desperate for Kira to understand. “If there’s really still a Jedi master out there, I’ve got to go.”
> 
> “If that’s true, if it’s so important, how come he’s never come to you?” Kira asked, fierce, suddenly. “He’s never once showed up to help you, or the Rebellion.”
> 
> “I don’t know,” Maya said, truthfully. “But the student always goes to the teacher — it’s the respectful thing to do. The traditional thing.”
> 
> “Tradition got the Jedi killed,” Kira said, jaw tight. “He should have come to you.”
> 
> Maya sighed. She was certain that if the Clan Chiefs ever called on her, Kira would go, despite everything, but Maya knew better than bring that up.
> 
> “Well, he didn’t, so I’m going to him,” Maya said, gathering her things again. “Take care of yourself, Kira.”
> 
> Kira nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
> 
> “You know, I missed you, when you left. And I guess I’ll probably miss you when I’m gone,” Maya said, forcing herself to confess the truth, because she might never have the chance again.
> 
> Kira said nothing.
> 
> So Maya walked away, wishing they could have parted on better terms. Maya didn’t know when she would be coming back — or if she ever would.
> 
> “Hey!” Kira called. “Listen!”
> 
> Maya paused and turned around.
> 
> “May you walk in light, Maya of Telania Hill Station,” Kira said, giving the traditional bow of the Clans — one warrior to another.
> 
> Maya smiled. “And may the stars shine on your path, until we meet again,” she concluded, bowing in response.

* * *

The next morning, just as he’s dumping his breakfast dishes in the sink, the doorbell rings. When he gets up from where he was sitting at the dining room table, Luke can see Poe’s car parked out on the street. Luke’s throat catches suddenly, and he forces himself to breathe out slowly through his nose — it’s still Poe, who loves making jokes about the French Revolution, no matter what happens. So Luke opens the door to the sight of Poe in his black peacoat, collar turned up against the cold, holding open the screen door with his shoulder and looking up at Luke, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Luke says, compelled to smile back.

“Not too early to come by, is it?” Poe asks.

“No, now is good. Are you headed to the airport?” Luke asks, crossing his arms against the sudden cold wind rushing into the house.

“Yeah, my flight’s in a couple hours,” Poe says, rubbing his gloved hands together. “I submitted all my grades even though that website is incredibly non-functional. And soon I’m going to be somewhere with actual sunshine and I won’t have to wear multiple layers just to manage the walk from the parking garage to the building.”

“Well, congratulations on surviving your first semester teaching,” Luke says.

“Thank you,” Poe says, grinning brightly, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold.

“Do you want to come in? Do you have time?” Luke asks, because it’s not polite to leave people standing at the doorstep.

“No, I’ve really got to go, the airport’s probably going to be crazy,” Poe says, grimacing. “Just wanted to drop off your gift.”

“You really didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” Poe says, pulling a gift-wrapped package from his bag, clearly a book — Luke recognizes the local independent bookstore’s seasonal wrapping paper — and handing it over. “Open it.”

“You don’t want me to save it?”

“What, and miss getting the instant gratification of actually seeing your reaction? No — go ahead.”

Luke sets the book on the side table by the door so he can slide a finger along the seam where the tape is holding the edges of the wrapping paper together.

“Of course that’s how you open presents,” Poe says, shaking his head.

“My Aunt Beru always said that being careful was a way of showing respect,” Luke says, almost reflexively. He’s never been great at following that advice — the spines of his books are cracked and he loses things, still — but sometimes he thinks it’s because he was a careless child that he’s tried to make himself over into a careful adult.

“Well,” Poe says, looking down, toward Luke’s bare feet. “Who am I to argue with that?”

Luke can’t find the right response to that so he concentrates on freeing the book from its wrapping.

“ _Odes to Common Things_ ,” he reads, balancing the book on his right arm, so he can flip carefully through the pages, the interspersed illustrations. “Pablo Neruda.”

“Great minds think alike and all that, apparently,” Poe says. “I saw it in Labyrinth Books a couple weeks back. I figured I would expand your horizons, remind you that there’s been some pretty remarkable poetry written for totally mundane things, too.”

“Poe — thank you,” Luke says, holding up the book. It’s been, he realizes, a long time since he’s bought or received poetry that wasn’t written or translated by someone he knows, or someone whom he at least ought to know about.

“Hey, Luke?” Poe asks, stepping in closer, over the threshold.

“Yeah?” Luke murmurs, almost shivering, not from the cold, but the nearness of Poe.

“Hypothetically, if I were to ask you to dinner, when I’m back in town after the holidays, how do you think that would that go over?”

“Dinner as in a date?” Luke asks, because it’s very, very important that he not misunderstand what’s happening.

Poe laughs a little, breathy. “Yeah, as in a date.”

“Then hypothetically, I think that would garner a yes,” Luke says, filled with the same warm, near-physical sense of buoyancy he gets stepping off a plane in New York or Patna.

Poe bites his lower lip and then grins, luminescent. “Okay, that’s good to know,” he says.

“Good,” Luke murmurs.

“Glad we had this talk,” Poe says, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. Then suddenly he’s leaning in, pressing a warm kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Have a good Christmas,” he says, still so close, breath warm against Luke’s skin.

“Yeah,” Luke says, finding his voice belatedly. “You, too. Have a safe trip home.”

Poe starts walking backward, out the door and onto the porch, beaming so wide and bright it’s like sunbeams. “Will do.”

* * *

> Padme Amidala, Theed, CT, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Philadelphia, PA, March 12, 1993.
> 
> “I worry, sometimes, that I taught you and Leia that the only way to be in love is to remain so, even by yourself, even after the person you love is gone — in whatever form that leaving might take. I don’t believe that’s the true or right thing for most people. My love for your father has never been a burden to carry. If I have never found someone else I have wanted to spend years with, it is because there have always been other causes, other people, other beautiful things, that have fulfilled me.
> 
> I know, however much you try to couch it in gentler language, That Boy (as I will continue to refer to him, if you don’t mind) must have hit some tender spots in your heart on his way out.
> 
> I imagine you’ll say I’m biased as your mother, which of course I am, but I am certain that there will be someone, someday, who wants very much to stay and see you happy. Until then (and after!) I hope you will define your happiness not by any single other person but rather by all the wonderful things you have done and will do, the amazing places you have seen and will one day explore, the extraordinary experiences stored away in your memory and the ones that lie, waiting, still in front of you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Transcendental Meditation (T.M.) is a form of meditation originally taught by Mahesh Maharishi Yogi (1928-2008), the guru the Beatles studied with during their famous trip to India. Unlike many older forms of meditation, T.M. is a trademarked technique. For an introduction to T.M. and other modern meditation movements, see _Transcendent in America: Hindu-Inspired Meditation Movements as New Religion_ by Lola Williamson. [back to the story]
> 
> 2 Hindi: Everything will be fine, Aditi-sister. (In Hindi, calling someone sister or brother can be indicative of politeness or respect, or a friendly or close relationship between people of a similar age, in addition to being a literal designation. So you might call cousins or friends your brother or sister.) [back to the story]
> 
> 3 Hindi: Maybe, perhaps. [back to the story]
> 
> 4 To learn about the concept of the hierophany, see the work of Mircea Eliade, such as _The Sacred and the Profane_. [back to the story]
> 
> 5 Mirabai, “The Long Drought Is Over,” trans. John Hawley and Robert Bly, in _Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems_ , ed. Robert Bly and Jane Hirshfield (Boston: Beacon Press, 2004), 50. [back to the story]
> 
> 6 Collective effervescence is a shared experience of passion that reaffirms a sense of communal identification and belonging. Sociologist Emile Durkheim interpreted this as the basis of all religious experience, thus concluding that religion is essentially a social phenomenon. He also argued the same experience could be found in secular settings, such as in nationalism. People have applied the concept to a variety of circumstances - think of the atmosphere of a rock concert, for example. For more information, consider reading _The Elementary Forms of Religious Life_ , by Emile Durkheim, trans. Carol Cosman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). [back to the story]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while back, I came up with the exchange about Bernini in the last scene of this chapter and then was immediately like, haha, I cannot write this though. And so the wonderful, wonderful [leupagus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus) stepped in and wrote pretty much everything that happens between them exiting Sosha's and Luke looking for his phone, and was also gracious enough to let me tweak things as desired. So you have her to thank!
> 
> Also, if any of you are wondering what Luke looked like during his gap year on Owen & Beru's ranch in New Mexico, please see [this completely unfair picture](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CXgtdL4UMAQkQHj.jpg). Content warning for cowboy hat. ([pic context](https://twitter.com/hamillhimself/status/682426619529707522))

> Rey Jakku, personal email to Luke Amidala-Lars, August 9, 2015.
> 
> “I went to the beach this morning, early, so it was just the fishermen and women out by the pier and a couple people walking their dogs and I guess it made me want to write to you because I know there aren’t any beaches there. Everything at the beach here looks the same as always, with the waves and the seagulls. But of course that’s just the way it should be. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like, not to grow up right here on the estuary of the Sound, where everything is so delicate and damaged and intertwined, knowing the ocean is just out there to the east and to the south. I know I complain about it, but sometimes I think Theed is a pretty wonderful place and this morning was one of those times.
> 
> I’m in the library now, just got done with my shift at the garage. Han and Chewie say hi and to remember to send Leia or them some your return flight details within the next couple days, please. Actually they didn’t say please. Anyway, I finished _Mansfield Park_ yesterday (I’ll talk about that in a second), so I’m going to pick up _Persuasion_ once I’ve sent this email. I’ll let you know what I think.”

* * *

The night before Christmas Eve, the night before her eighteenth birthday, Rey shows up at his door with a single beat-up piece of luggage, a large garbage bag, and an overfull backpack. “I left,” she says, standing on the porch. “I left because I’m old enough tomorrow and I just had to and I know I should have called before just showing up but—”

“Rey, come in,” Luke says, holding open the screen door so that Rey’s luggage can fit through.

Rey drags herself and her things into the house and then collapses onto the couch, looking exhausted and awful.

Luke sits down next to her, lets her slump down along his side, and puts an arm around her, squeezing. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Rey says. “I couldn’t find a place I could afford that didn’t have cockroaches or a terrible landlord, but I couldn’t stay with Unkar either.”

“You can stay here,” Luke offers, gently, so as not to put Rey in a position where she feels like she has to fight. “It’s going to be hard finding a place now in the middle of winter and you’re probably going to move in the fall anyway, even if you decide to go to Theed.”

“If I get in,” Rey mutters.

“If Admissions turns you down, they’re complete idiots,” Luke says.

“I can take care of myself,” Rey insists, but she doesn’t sit up, or pull away.

“I know that. But it’s not weakness to ask for help,” Luke replies. “People rely on each other — it’s how we get through.”

“Sometimes you sound like a fortune cookie,” Rey says.

Luke huffs but doesn’t deign to respond, just lets Rey sit there for long minutes, as her breathing becomes more even.

“You want to put your stuff in the spare room?” he asks, finally, standing.

“Okay,” Rey says. She gets up, hoisting her backpack, but pauses, looking down at her beat-up boots. “It would really be okay if I stayed through to the summer?” she mumbles. “Just like that?”

“Of course it would,” Luke promises.

“I could — I could help out,” Rey says, rapidly. “I could fix the garage door properly for you, maybe, and—”

“Rey, I know,” Luke says. “I appreciate that. We can talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Rey says and nods, once, firmly, and stands there for a moment more, before looking up at him again. “Luke? Thanks.”

Luke says, gently, “You have a lot to be proud of, you know that, right? You’re going to be just fine.”

“I know,” Rey says. “I guess I just — I wonder what my family would have thought. Of me. Who I am.” She stands there, shoulders slumped under the weight of the confession.

“They would be so proud of you,” Luke says, reaching out and squeezing Rey’s shoulder gently, reassurance that he’s here, listening.

Rey nods, looking down, biting her lip. Then, she raises her head, looking at Luke straight-on, brave in this as she is in the face of so much. “Do you ever wonder that about your father?” she ask. “What he’d think of you, even now?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, “I do.”

Rey nods. “I kind of guessed,” she says.

“You carry it all with remarkable grace,” Luke tells her.

Rey smiles, eyes watery, and says, “I guess I am pretty great.”

Luke laughs and plants a kiss on her forehead. “Yeah. Go get some sleep, kid. And let me know if you need anything.”

Once Rey’s gone to bed, Luke sits down, exhaustion weighing on his limbs, and finds himself reaching for his phone and calling his mother, like so many times before.

“Luke, what’s wrong? It’s late,” Mom says.

“Sorry,” Luke says, “I wasn’t thinking. It’s Rey.”

“Is she all right?” Mom says immediately, serious, sounding like the woman known for handling the kind of delicate diplomatic negotiations that held lives in the balance.

“Mostly,” Luke says. “I mean — no, she’s fine, she’s here at my house. She moved out of Unkar Plutt’s place — well, I say moved out, but that doesn’t really—”

“Okay,” Mom says, soothingly. “So she’s safe, not hurt?”

“No, she’s all right,” Luke says. “Just tired, I think. She’s sleeping now.”

“Her birthday is tomorrow, right?” Mom says. “She’ll be eighteen?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Mom says. “That’ll make things easier. I can call our lawyer, if need be. The two of you can talk to the Academy — they already know to call you or Han and Leia if they need to talk to someone about Rey anyway.”

“I just — I don’t know that I did enough,” Luke mutters, feeling the ache behind his eyes. “She deserved to have someone looking out for her who actually—”

“Luke, you and Han and Leia, you gave her people she could turn to — it’s made a difference, I’m sure of it,” Mom says gently. “You can never solve every problem. Not one person’s, not the world’s. The point is to keep trying anyway.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess, all of us at the university, we spend so much time talking about what doing good in the world is, or how we could be doing better, and I don’t know that we ever actually _do_ enough ourselves.”

“You think I don’t feel the same way?” Mom asks. “Luke, there are days I am furious about the things that happen in this world. There are days I wonder what any of us, in all our delegations and our summits, ever really got done — but we aren’t only our regrets. You’ve done some very admirable things.”

“So have you, Mom,” Luke says, quietly. “More than most.”

Mom sighs, her breath rustling over the connection. “I like to think I’ve done my best, under the circumstances. I think you have, too.”

Luke swallows against the aching desire to cry, though over what exactly he’s not even sure anymore. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Mom says, simply.

In the morning, when Rey stumbles into the kitchen following the scent of waffles, Luke hands her the DMV paperwork he’d printed out earlier. “Here,” Luke says, “start filling this out.”

Rey takes the papers and sets them on the counter, concentrating on her mission to get coffee. Once she’s filled her mug, got it to the way she prefers — milk, two sugars — she finally looks over at the paperwork. “Wait, so what are these?” she asks.

“We’re getting your permanent address changed on your driver’s license. And then when that’s done, we can get you a passport,” Luke says.

Rey looks up, eyes wide and then suddenly, like the sun bursting into view from behind a cloud, she smiles.

“Happy birthday, Rey,” Luke says.

Rey hugs him, suddenly, fiercely. “Thank you,” she says, “thank you.”

* * *

> Luke Amidala-Lars, Tosche, NM, personal letter to Obi-Wan Kenobi, Theed, CT, January 21, 1986.
> 
> “I drove myself and Aunt Beru down into town yesterday. I actually felt calm the whole time and I’m kind of proud of that. I wanted to tell you that because I feel like you’d understand what that meant to me.
> 
> I’ve been thinking a lot, recently, that I’m almost as old as Dad was when he met Mom again, now. He was already going into his second year at the Air Force Academy at eighteen, and I spend a lot of time reading those Emerson essays you sent me to the horses. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, the way people end up becoming adults in such different ways?”

* * *

Poe calls, mid-morning, two days after Christmas.

“How’s being home?” Luke asks.

“Really good, for the most part,” Poe says. “My father’s been on one of his crazy house-cleaning kicks again, so he’s been trying to throw out all my old stuff. But my mom rescued most of it and stowed it in boxes in the garage, so I’ve been going back through all these things from when I was a kid. I was strangely obsessed with manatees for a while there.”

“That’s sort of sweet,” Luke says.

“Yeah, I was a pretty endearing kid,” Poe replies. “So how was your Christmas?”

Luke sighs, wondering where to even begin describing the throw-down, no-holds-barred debate Ben and Rey had over Christmas dinner, about whether libertarianism in the tech industry had any benefits. “Interesting,” he says.

“That good, huh?” Poe says. Luke can imagine his smile, the way the corners of his eyes scrunch up.

“Certainly memorable in any case,” Luke says.

“But did anything catch on fire?” Poe asks.

“No. Is that a common occurrence at Dameron family gatherings?”

“I mean, it’s been known to happen every now and again. We’re pretty fond of combustible things. And fireworks.”

“That explains a lot about you,” Luke says.

“Hey, now,” Poe says. “Let’s be honest — if anyone’s winning the crazy family award, it’s definitely you.”

“By miles, probably,” Luke agrees.   

There’s a thump and mumbling in the background on Poe’s side and Poe makes a tsking sound of annoyance. “Hold on one second,” he says. “I might have to rescind that claim. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Sure,” Luke murmurs, distracted by Rey poking her head out of the kitchen.

“I’m making pancakes,” she announces, with determination. “Chocolate chip.”

“Okay,” Luke says, faintly concerned. Rey is also fond of combustible things.

“All right, I’m back,” Poe says, over the phone. “The parents say hello, by the way. But my mom’s been making jokes at my expense all day, so feel free to ignore that greeting.”

“Duly noted,” Luke says. “Tell them my family and I say hi, anyway.”

“Fine, do what you want,” Poe replies. “So, besides suffering through family Christmas, what’ve you been up to?”

“Well, I ended up with an eighteen-year-old mechanic-genius for a housemate,” Luke says, listening to Rey talk herself through her recipe in the kitchen.

“How, exactly?” Poe asks.

“Rey — she moved out of her house, so she’s staying with me. And she’s trying to make pancakes right now.”

There’s indistinct sounds of movement over the line and then Poe says, “You are the only person I know who could say something like that and I’m not even that surprised. Of course you semi-adopted an almost-adult over your break. What else would you do with your free time?”

“It’s not a repeating pattern of personal behavior. I don’t think you can extrapolate that.”

“I like to think we’re at the point in our relationship where you would have revealed the existence of any secret children to me, anyway,” Poe says.

“Unfortunately for the American media cycle, that’s not a skeleton I’ve got in my closet,” Luke says.

“They’d have a field day for sure. You and Leia turned out disappointingly normal for being famous political children,” Poe says. “Minus your not-so-secret career writing about space lesbians.”

Luke can’t help but give into a moment of laughter, slouched low on his couch. “That, and Leia and I did both voluntarily go through years of higher education after graduating college, so maybe it’s debatable,” Luke replies.

“Probably still one of the lesser evils you could have gone with,” Poe says. “So is Rey doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, feeling a bloom of warm fondness in his chest, “she’s doing okay. She’s gone on a fixing spree around the house. I suddenly seem to have appliances I don’t even remember acquiring anymore.”

“What, do you have multiple blenders or something?”

“I have a bread maker, apparently. I’m pretty sure Leia and Han got it as a wedding present and pawned it off on me when I moved back here.”

“Have you ever used it?”

“I don’t think I even know how to.”

“You can make pizza dough in a bread maker,” Poe informs him.

“Is that something you do?” Luke asks, skeptical.

Poe laughs, “No, there was someone in my cohort who used to make pizza a lot, when she was stressed. Which was great for the rest of us. Probably not great for her, though.”

“My adviser always made this bizarre stew,” Luke says, absently. “Everyone was always trying to get out of eating it, but I was kind of socially obligated.”

“All the stories you tell about being in grad school really make me wonder how you survived,” Poe says.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “I managed to get dengue fever when I was doing my dissertation fieldwork. I was visiting a friend in South India — I was only supposed to be there for a week but then I ended up in the hospital. Definitely had a moment there when I wasn’t so sure about lasting long enough to actually get my doctorate.”

“Honestly, I worry about you sometimes,” Poe says, voice caught somewhere between laughter and concern.

“I haven’t died yet,” Luke says.

“I appreciate that.”

There’s a beat when there’s only Poe’s steady breath over the phone and the sounds of Rey muttering to herself in the kitchen. Luke lets his eyes fall shut, so he can better take in his own heartbeat, feeling warm, content, despite the cold outside.  

Then Poe says, “I brought the book you gave me down here with me. I got to the poem you were reciting. The opening’s really,” he pauses. “It’s really lovely, too.”

“ _My Beloved has come home with the rains_ ,” Luke says, automatically.1

“Luke,” Poe says, in a tone Luke thinks is possibly meant to be accusatory but falls somewhere short of that.

“Sorry?” Luke offers.

“I’m not asking for an apology,” Poe says. “I just really wish I could kiss you right now.”

That startles the breath out of Luke for a moment and he stares at his own bent knees, the familiar suddenly made strange.

Poe chuckles, honey-warm. “Come on, that’s not that surprising, is it? I haven't exactly been subtle about it.”

“No, I just — I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” Luke says.

“Well, it’s true,” Poe says, with astonishing ease.

“I’ve been reading the Neruda odes,” Luke responds, a fair trade, hopefully. “The idea that perfectly ordinary things are really remarkable — that’s captivating.”

“Yeah. I thought that might appeal to you,” Poe says, and Luke wishes Poe were as close as his voice is. “You got a favorite?”

Luke considers the question and settles on, “The first one, probably. Ode to Things. I like that thought, of loving small things, too. Things you wouldn’t really think about.”

“ _Mankind has built so many perfect things! Built them of wool and of wood, of glass and rope_ ,” Poe murmurs.2 “Yeah. That’s a good choice.”

“Thank you,” Luke says.

There’re more muffled sounds in the background on Poe’s end and Poe sighs in exasperation.

“I should probably go,” Poe says. “But I’ll see you next week, when I get back, okay?”

“Next week,” Luke agrees.

“Talk to you soon. Bye, Luke.”

“Bye,” Luke says.

Letting his phone drop quietly onto a rumpled blanket on the couch, Luke takes a long, slow breath out (the way his Uncle Ben had first taught him, years ago, when he’d been a child overwhelmed by the crowds of people who would turn out to see his mother, to catch her hand, like she was a walking saint). Then he gets up and goes into the kitchen, to make sure the house isn’t on the verge of burning down.

“Everything going okay?” he asks Rey.

Rey looks at him, frowning, her clothes covered in patches of flour. “Everything’s fine,” she insists. “I just got a little messy.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees.

“You know, he’s Finn’s adviser,” Rey says. “That Poe Dameron guy, I mean.”

“Finn?” Luke asks, trying to make sense of Rey’s too-casual announcement.

“Yeah,” Rey says, suddenly focused on pouring a perfectly-shaped circle of batter, “you know, my friend, Finn. Who I met at the garage?”

“Right,” Luke says. “ _That_ friend, huh?”

Rey nods, looking up now from her intent gaze on the frying pan.   

“Actually, I think I met Finn in Poe’s office once,” Luke says, thinking about it.

“Yeah,” Rey agrees. “He told me about meeting you, later, when I said I knew you, too.”

“He seems like a nice person,” Luke offers.

“He is,” Rey says, firmly. “He’s thinking about being a doctor, maybe.”

“Good for him.”

“Finn likes your guy a lot,” Rey says, thoughtfully. “So he must be okay.”

“What, my opinion wasn’t enough to convince you?”

Rey looks at Luke, judgmental. “You have terrible taste in lots of things. I was just getting a second opinion.”

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Who Walk in Light_ (New York: Endor, forthcoming), 62.
> 
> “I guess I must have missed you when you were gone,” Kira said, looking down.
> 
> “Oh,” Maya said, at a loss. It was exactly what she had wanted to hear — exactly what she had not let herself admit she wanted to hear. But gifted with such a confession, what was there to do?
> 
> “You’re surprised,” Kira observed. “You shouldn’t be.”
> 
> “I’m leaving again,” Maya admitted, because the truth deserved the truth in return. “I have to go back. I made Master Ulim a promise, when I left to find Teo and An—”  
> 
> “I know,” Kira cut in. “You think I didn’t know?”

* * *

It’s about seven in the evening, three days into the new year, and Luke’s sitting in his home office, looking over the readings for the graduate seminar he’s teaching this semester, when he hears the doorbell ring.

“Just a second,” Luke calls, sticking a post-it into his book to mark the place.

When he gets to the door, it’s Poe, standing on the porch, beaming and holding a bag of take-out and a bottle of wine. He’s gotten his hair trimmed back neater, more like it had been at the start of the semester, short, soft curls framing his face.

“I got an offer from Theed University Press to take on my dissertation. I just got the response this morning when I got off the plane in New York. They liked the bit of the manuscript I have so far,” Poe says, holding up the bottle of wine. “And they’re serious about getting it out to press by my third-year review and I think I’m going to sign the contract.”

“That’s great,” Luke says, pushing open the screen door automatically as he smiles.

“I brought food, too,” Poe says, stepping into the house, setting down the wine and the take-out bag on the foyer side table, and then brushing a kiss over Luke’s cheek. “Thought we could celebrate my good news.”

“Um—” Luke stumbles over his words, his skin tingling from the contact.

“What,” Poe says, grinning as he pulls away, the corners of his eyes scrunched up with glee, “you aren't impressed?”

“No, I am,” Luke says, earnest, catching Poe’s wrist and squeezing for a second. “Just—”

Poe brushes his thumb over the underside of Luke’s wrist in response and Luke forgets entirely what he’d been planning to say. “Good, me, too,” Poe says stepping back to take off his coat and slip off his shoes. “Hi,” he says, eyes bright and smiling. “Guess I should have started with that, huh?”

There are snowflakes melting in Poe’s hair and the sight of him, right here in front of Luke, is arresting.

“Hi,” Luke echoes, belatedly.

Poe walks into the living room to set the food and the wine on the coffee table and Luke follows. Poe stops to look at Luke, assessing. “You should wear blue more often,” he says, stepping closer, into Luke’s personal space. “You look good.”

That’s when Rey wanders downstairs into the dining room, wrapped up in a blanket, chewing on a Twizzler. She stops, startled and staring at Poe, and then turns to Luke and says abruptly, “There’s a person here.”

“Uh. Yes,” Luke says, taking an instinctive step back away from Poe, even though they hadn’t been doing anything untoward. “That’s true.”

Poe glances back and forth between Luke and Rey and then says, “Hi!”, giving Rey a little wave, which is faintly ridiculous since he’s approximately ten feet away from her.

Rey studies him silently, wary.

Luke knows he should do introductions, but mostly he’s struck by the question of what choices, in particular, he’s made to lead to this specific moment.

“I’m Poe Dameron. I teach Latin American history at the university,” Poe says, holding out his hand, his charm already back in place.

“Oh, right. I know about you,” Rey says, nodding and coming over to shake his hand, warming considerably, looking curious rather than irritated now. Luke is very concerned about what she’s going to say next. “You’re Finn’s adviser! I’m Rey.”

“Of course! You’re _Rey_ ,” Poe nods enthusiastically. “Luke’s always telling stories about you. And Finn — he talks about you constantly.”

Rey grins and ducks her head for a second. Then she turns to Luke and says, “You didn’t say there were going to be people tonight.”

Half-overlapping with her, Poe adds, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have just shown up — I didn’t even think about it.”

Luke is reminded, painfully, of how Leia had once told Luke, with a sigh, that he was “a well-intentioned walking public relations disaster.”  

“I didn’t really realize we were going to have company, either,” Luke says, for lack of anything better.

Rey finishes her Twizzler and squints at the take-out bag. “Is that from the new Thai place?”

“Yeah,” Poe says. “It’s pretty good. Better than the old place. You like pad kee mao?”

“Who doesn’t?” Rey asks, a little pitying, like she considers that a bit of a stupid question but is trying her best to be nice about it.

“Great,” Poe says. “We should all eat.”

“Right,” Luke says, slowly. “Good.”  

“Well,” Rey says, grinning brightly, “I wouldn’t want to get in the way or anything.”

Poe, amazingly, looks faintly flustered.

“Rey,” Luke says, deciding to intervene.

“But if you two are offering to share, I would like that,” Rey says magnanimously. Luke’s pretty sure Rey’s channeling some kind of imitation of his mom, which works shockingly well.

“Absolutely,” Poe says, looking like he’s on the verge of laughing — possibly at himself. “It’s nice to finally get a chance to meet you, when I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, same here,” Rey says, finally unwrapping herself from her blanket and dropping it onto the couch. “Why don’t I go get some plates?” Then she cheerfully ambles off through the dining room into the kitchen.

Poe immediately turns to Luke and hisses, “You could’ve said something.”

“I was trying to,” Luke protests. “You were being distracting.”

“Is that right?” Poe says, a delighted grin spilling across his face.

Luke replies, “Okay, this is exactly what I was talking about. Pull it together, Professor.”

“Really shouldn’t have gone with my title if you wanted me to pull it together,” Poe whispers back.

Luke chokes on air. “We are really, really not having this conversation right now.”

Poe glances out toward the kitchen, where Rey is gathering cutlery, loudly. “Yeah, fair enough,” Poe concedes.

“You went to Theed for college, right?” Rey asks Poe, coming back into the dining room with plates and forks.

“Yup,” Poe agrees, walking over into the dining room, hands stuck in pockets. Luke trails behind him, taking in the line of Poe’s shoulders. “Did History and Latin American Studies.”

“How’d you end up picking it?” Rey says, unpacking the take-out containers. “I’m trying to get a variety of opinions on where I might want to go. I applied to Theed, obviously, but I also applied to Brown, Berkeley, a couple other places.”

“I’m clearly biased, but I think Theed’s your best choice. I came for the academics, mostly. But I don’t know, I guess there’s sort of a quality to it as a place, too. When I first visited here, I stayed with a friend and we walked to campus through the Arboretum. I just remember feeling like it was somewhere I’d like to spend a couple years,” Poe says, shrugging and sticking forks for serving in the opened containers.

Luke passes around plates. Rey has, somewhat surprisingly, picked ones that actually match.  

Poe continues, “Also, the Chancellor was kind of a hero of mine, I guess, because of all that equal opportunity legislation she pushed through when she was in the Senate and the way she really gunned for women in NASA. My mom always says she might not have ended up leading a shuttle mission if hadn’t been for that whole trio of the Chancellor and Senator Organa and President Mothma. What was that nickname for the three of them, when they were all in Senate?” he asks, turning to Luke.

“People called them the Alliance,” Luke says, smiling at the memory.

“The Alliance,” Rey repeats, grinning and heaping noodles onto her plate. “I like it.”

It’s nice, even if it is sort of surreal, to have Rey and Poe both here, talking in his dining room, Luke thinks.

“I hope you’re planning to wait an appropriate amount of time before driving if you’re going to drink,” Rey says, abruptly serious as she squints critically at the wine bottle still sitting on the coffee table.

Poe widens his eyes slightly but he just nods. “Yes. Obviously. I take road safety seriously.”

“That’s fine then. All right, I’m gonna go bring this to my room so I can finish my stats homework,” Rey announces, holding up her plate. “But it was nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too,” Poe says, smiling somewhat uncertainly.

Rey beams, sunny, and retrieves her blanket from the couch before heading upstairs.

“So, that happened,” Luke says, when she’s gone.

Poe slides slowly into a chair at the dining table. Then he looks over at Luke and his shoulders abruptly collapse into laughter. “This really has not gone the way I imagined,” Poe says.  

“Maybe lower your expectations next time,” Luke says, sitting down across from him, letting his ankle rest against Poe’s.

“Title of your next book?” Poe asks, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Luke says, ducking his head to laugh. “It’s going to be a memoir.”

“That’s awful,” Poe says, kicking Luke’s shin lightly with a socked foot. “You know, you never mentioned your teenage editor housemate is also fucking terrifying.”

“She’s got her moments,” Luke says. “Probably testing your psychological wherewithal or something.”   

“Think I passed?”

“You would definitely know if she didn’t like you,” Luke assures him.

“Oh, good,” Poe says.

Luke nudges Poe’s ankle gently with his own. “So tell me about the book deal.”

Poe’s eyes light up. “Yeah, the editor I’ve been in contact with is incredible.”

By the time Poe gathers his coat to leave, it’s late enough that the night has taken on that slight tint of the surreal that only reveals itself past midnight.

“So, you and me, this is happening, right?” Poe asks, standing in front of the door.

Luke pauses, mouth half-open, caught suddenly in doubt. He’s learned over the years of his life how to carry his names, his legacies, his own stories and the ones, treasured and held delicately up to the light, that others have shared with him and allowed him to tell. But despite all that, he’s never found a way to be someone a person could fall in love with, not in a way that ever really fit, that ever really stuck.

“Would it help if I broke down the question for you, defined how I’m using my terms?” Poe asks, affection intertwined in his words.

Luke tries to bite down a smile and fails. “The question was a little vague, Professor Dameron. Care to clarify?”

“Certainly. So by you and me,” Poe says, stepping close enough to place a warm hand low on Luke’s back, to rest his forehead against his, “I meant this. And by happening,” he murmurs, his words hot breath across Luke’s lips, “I was imagining something like this.”

Then he tilts his head and captures Luke’s lips, taking advantage of his instinctive gasp to deepen the kiss. Luke finds himself gripping Poe’s upper arm and making a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper, at the heat of Poe’s mouth against his own.

“Was that okay?” Poe asks, pulling back, just far enough to look Luke in the eyes.

“Yeah,” Luke says, looking back, hyper-aware now of the thud of his pulse. “I mean, to the earlier question, too.”

“That’s good to hear,” Poe says, his smile all in his eyes now. “And would you be interested in going to dinner with me on Thursday?”

“I’d like that,” Luke says, letting himself lean back in, to steal another kiss and linger there, to slide his hand up over Poe’s shoulder and bury his fingers in the short, loose curls at the nape of Poe’s neck. Poe makes a muffled noise of approval that sends electricity sparking down Luke’s spine.

“I’ll see you soon,” Luke says, delicately untangling himself from the embrace.

“You really can’t make anything easy for me, can you?” Poe says, though he’s smiling.

Luke gives a half shrug. “We learn more when we work for it, right?”

Poe licks his lips and says, “I’m a fast learner.”

“Okay, you should definitely leave before I forget that I do actually like you,” Luke says.

“Uh-huh,” Poe says, taking a step backward and reaching the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

The next morning, Rey wanders into his home office, eating a bowl of cereal. “So, Luke,” she says.

“Yes, Rey?” Luke asks, looking up at her over the frames of his glasses.

“So, last night, that was Poe Dameron,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Luke says, waiting her out. “That was him.”

“Well,” she says, chewing with studied nonchalance, “he seemed okay to me. He did get a little flustered there for a minute, but I suppose we can let that pass.”

“You were trying to make him nervous,” Luke points out.

Rey grins. “I don’t what you’re talking about. I was being very nice.”

* * *

> Leia Amidala-Lars, Theed, CT, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Philadelphia, PA, March 17, 1997.
> 
> “Mom says she found Uncle Ben’s academic regalia in some closet after all so you’ll be able to wear it when you walk at your commencement, although I maintain that choice is more morbid than touching.
> 
> But either way, you’ll finally be done! You really took your time, didn’t you? (I know, I know, you had to do fieldwork — all I’m saying is that I got married, had a kid, and got done with my Ph.D. within my five funded years.)
> 
> It’ll be good to have you home.”

* * *

Two days later, Luke and Rey are over at Leia and Han’s for dinner when Leia finally corners Luke.

“Luke, come help me with the dishes,” Leia orders.

Luke looks over at Han for help, because this is very clearly the prelude to an interrogation. But both Han and Chewie just shrug unhelpfully and Ben slouches further down in his chair, which makes very little difference, given his height, and shakes his head minutely in simultaneous sympathy and disavowal. The entire time he’s been home, Ben’s been trying very hard to be as amenable as possible, at least to Leia, though the effort is clearly getting to him.

And Rey and Luke’s mother are having some kind of very involved discussion about the wonders of public service law, possibly, so he’s not getting any help there.

“I’ll load, you rinse,” Leia orders.

Luke can think of a variety of responses to this, but at the end of the day, he knows his sister better than he knows himself, most of the time, and so just he just follows her into the kitchen.

Leia raises her eyebrows at him. “So, are you finally going to talk to me about this thing with you and Dameron, or am I going to have to do the completely undignified thing and ask him about it?”

“Please under no circumstances do that,” Luke says, in honest horror.

“Trust me, I would vastly prefer not to. So you should take this opportunity to share.”

Luke says, “It’s just weird. You’re his head of department. And this university is so — people talk.”

“About us? People always have,” Leia says, gentle now, the way she always is before Luke even realizes that’s what he needs. “Our whole lives. He’s an adult. He’s got to have some idea what he’s getting into, getting involved with an Amidala.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, handing a wet plate to Leia. “Hopefully.”  

“So that isn’t what this is about,” Leia says, certain. “You’re afraid of something else.”

“You know, you have a tendency to make these semi-psychological assessments of me and I don’t know that you can really be so sure. We’re all fundamentally mysteries, even to ourselves,” Luke says. “Some wisdom from Freud and Jung.”

“You don’t like Freud,” Leia says. “And I distinctly remember you once calling me at one in the morning just because you found something Jung wrote so unintentionally funny that you had to read it to me immediately.”

“I honestly don’t remember that,” Luke admits.

“It was your first year of grad school, so I’m not surprised,” Leia says drily, tucking some hair behind her ear. “So. What’s going on?”

“I don't know,” Luke confesses. “I’ve just spent so much time . . . not doing this kind of thing. It always seemed so time-consuming, or something, when I had all these other things to do that felt so important. As if I could better learn compassion by listening to people’s stories and walking with them through temples than by . . . getting married. What?” he asks, because Leia’s giving him a look.

“I just don’t think those things are mutually exclusive, is all,” Leia says.

“I guess I don’t really think so either,” Luke says. “But after a while it all sort of seemed like a moot point anyway. And I told myself that, you know, so long as I could do something meaningful.”

“You sound a lot like Mom, sometimes,” Leia says.

Luke shrugs. “I’ve always thought that was a good thing.”

Leia half-laughs, half-sighs. “It’s not a bad thing,” she says.   

“I’m always leaving,” Luke says, handing over another plate. “At some point, no one wants to wait around for that.”

“I think you might be underestimating how weirdly invested in you he is,” Leia says, pushing at Luke’s upper arm without any real force.

Luke huffs. “Thanks. That’s really supportive.”

“If you say no, what does that get you, in the end?” Leia asks, slowly. Her eyes are distant.  

Luke knows she means more than this, right here. Leia, of the two of them, has always been the one better suited for the life they were born into, always blazing with the conviction of justice and using the ringing tones of her voice to speak out. But it made it harder for her, in its own way. When he was young, Luke was quick to irritation but even quicker to forgive, always eventually dusting off his knees and getting back on his feet. But Leia could hold ferocity, diamond hard, just under her skin, at all times.

That Leia had ever let herself build the life that she has is something of a wonder.

So Luke says, quietly, “That’s true.”

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Echoes in the Canyon_ (New York: Endor, 2003), 218.
> 
> “So?” Teo asked, leaning over the rail. His eyes were still covered over by bandages and the circuits of his new cybernetic leg and foot looked strange. He wasn’t in any state to be out and about yet, but Maya didn’t have it in herself to object, just now.
> 
> “So?” echoed Maya, still watching the _Emerald Victory_ disappear off into the horizon.
> 
> “So, do you like her?” Teo asked.
> 
> “Kira? Sure, I like her. She saved all our lives, didn’t she? Twice, if we’re counting.”
> 
> Teo hesitated, which was unlike him — or it had been, once. “I mean,” he said, dragging it out, “are you in love with her?”
> 
> _In love?_ Maya thought. It had never occurred to her that the pull she felt might be love — love was the way Uncle Dev had always looked at Aunt Ilana, not the hot relief Maya had felt flood through her when it was Kira beneath the Stormtrooper helmet, Kira, who’d come back for them after all.
> 
> “I barely know her, Teo,” Maya finally muttered, twisting her hands together, dry-mouthed and missing home fiercely. “How you can possibly love someone you don’t know?”
> 
> Teo turned toward her voice and shook his head. “I think we know her okay. She saved my life. Saved all of our lives, didn’t she? Twice, if we’re counting.”

* * *

On Thursday, Poe comes by to pick Luke up at his house, which strikes Luke as vaguely surreal, like a scene refracted out of some old film.

“You’ve already got take-out in here,” Luke observes, getting into the car. “Do you have an aversion to actually sitting and eating in restaurants?”

“Nope. I’m just taking you on an adventure, instead,” Poe says, starting up the engine, which makes some unhappy noises before finally coming to life.

“And where exactly are we finding adventure on a Thursday evening, in Theed, in January?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Poe says.

“Historically, surprises tend not to end well for me,” Luke informs him.

“Hey, don’t you trust me?” Poe asks, as they stop at a red light.

“Yes, of course I do,” Luke says, more of a confession than he intends it to be.

Poe looks over at him, a slow smile pressing up over his face. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

A few short minutes later, Poe pulls them into a parking lot off University Hill.

“The university museum,” Luke says, blankly. “Are we going to an art exhibition?”

“Nope, we’re headed there,” Poe says, pointing over to the small planetarium, the museum’s newest addition, which is clearly closed.

“Are you planning on breaking in or something?” Luke asks.

“No, we’re not breaking in,” Poe says. “What kind of date do you think I’m taking you on?”

Luke raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Hey, let’s just be clear here: I follow rules, provided the rules are just,” Poe shoots back. “You, on the other hand, are a tree thief.”

“You are never going to let that go,” Luke says, resigned.

“Absolutely not,” Poe says, brightly. “You kidding me? Anyway, Korr Sella knows this astronomy professor who has an appointment here or something. I mentioned I’d graduated by the time this place finally opened, and she said it was better to come by after-hours, when there aren’t any school groups. Said she could tell the guards to let me in, if I wanted. I just decided to bring you along.”

Luke pauses. “Okay,” he finally says. “I’ve actually never been in, either.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” Poe says, with an easy grin. “Come on, let’s go.”

The disinterested night guard lets them in, eyeing them both a little bit suspiciously before going back to playing some game involving cats on his phone.

“I think we probably could have broken in, actually,” Luke says.

“You not going into politics was the right call,” Poe informs him.

Luke rolls his eyes.

They wander through the planetarium’s small exhibits and end up eating the take-out sitting on the floor in the atrium where there are are rotating projections of seasonal star charts.

“Know your constellations?” Poe asks.

“I used to,” Luke says, craning his head back. There had been a time when he had wanted nothing more than to travel among the stars, finish the journey his father had started. It had taken waking up in a hospital bed, utterly disoriented and exhausted in ways he’d never known existed, for Luke to decide that he couldn’t do that — couldn’t willingly risk dying on his mom and Leia exactly the way his father had. If he was going to die, it would be somewhere on Earth, where they could still bury his body, close out the circle, give his bones back to the dirt. “I can still usually get Orion’s Belt, the Big Dipper.”

“Way too easy,” Poe says, shaking his head. “See those over there?” he says, pointing and tracing an oblong trapezoid between some stars. “That’s Leo.”

“I don’t really see how that’s a lion,” Luke asks, squinting.

“Come on, use your imagination,” Poe says, knocking his knee against Luke’s. “I used to know a lot of space trivia, too, on top of the constellations, when I was a kid. I’ve forgotten most of it now. But I wanted to know about where my mom was going, I guess.”

Luke turns his head to study Poe in profile, his chest filled with a faint, pleasant sort of ache. To ground himself, he reaches out, threads his fingers through Poe’s. Poe gives Luke’s hand a gentle, pulsing squeeze, and smiles.

“That’s how I got into science fiction,” Luke confesses, looking at their entangled hands. “When I was a kid, I thought I was going to be a pilot or an astronaut, like my dad. And even after, I guess space never lost that romance for me — the sense of the infinite possibility.”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees softly. “I get that.”

And Luke knows, without question, that Poe does understand, as another Earth-bound child of someone called to the stars.

“Is that why you picked the planetarium?” Luke asks, knocking his knee gently back against Poe’s.

“Maybe a little,” Poe says, turning to Luke and grinning. “You have to admit, I have good taste.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, letting himself lean in, press a soft kiss to the edge of that smile. Poe shifts, so it becomes a real kiss, slow and warm and better than the idle snippets of daydreams Luke’s entertained.

When Luke pulls away, he tips his head back again, toward the star projections, biting his lip to keep from smiling too embarrassingly wide.

When they leave, it’s started to snow, heavily, and the ride home is frankly terrifying. Luke grits his teeth as they slide around a corner. “Have you considered investing in some snow tires?” he asks. “Or possibly a new car?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, in retrospect that seems like a good idea,” Poe says, putting the car into park in front of Luke’s house. He turns to look at Luke and his expression shifts suddenly. “Hey, are you okay?”

Luke’s tensed up, without thinking about it. “I’m fine,” he says, trying to relax the muscles in his shoulders.

“Luke.”

“I am,” Luke says, meaning it now.

“You never talk about it,” Poe ventures. “The crash, I mean.”

Luke bites his lip, considering. Parked in front of his house in the snow hardly seems like a good time to discuss that time Luke very nearly died as a teenager, but then when has timing ever lined up correctly in Luke’s life?

“It’s honestly not something I think about that often anymore. But it was pretty . . . alarming at the time,” Luke admits. “It was a couple weeks after I graduated high school, and then suddenly I was waking up in the hospital without a right hand.” Luke shrugs. “It was just lucky I’m ambidextrous. Or I guess it would be more accurate to say I _was_ ambidextrous. Losing the other hand kind of cut short my plans to become the next Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Poe’s eyes widen and he laughs in a sudden loud burst. “You are really something.”

Luke grins and shrugs. “Yeah, well, you know,” he says. “If you can’t laugh about it.”

Poe’s eyes are warm and affectionate and Luke is grateful to have lived, to be here now.

“Can I walk to you to your door?” Poe asks.

“I think I’ll probably survive that perilous journey on my own,” Luke says.

“I’m trying to be gentlemanly.”

“Are you,” Luke says.

“Unless you don’t want me to be,” Poe says, leaning across the gear shift so that their faces are only inches apart. “In which case, you should definitely invite me in.”

And because he wants to, badly, Luke leans in and closes the distance. He brushes a kiss against Poe’s cheek, over the slant of his cheekbone, and then another dangerously, tantalizingly close to Poe’s lips.

“Luke—” Poe mumbles.

“Yeah,” Luke says, quiet, before pressing his slightly parted lips to Poe’s. And then, like he’s broken some kind of spell, Poe’s warm hands are cupping Luke’s neck and Poe is kissing back, soft at first and then more insistent, so Luke can’t help but open to him, scrape his teeth lightly over Poe’s bottom lip.

When Luke pulls away, he’s breathing heavily, but so is Poe.

“So was that a yes, come in with me?” Poe asks, brushing his thumb along Luke’s lower lip.

And it’s so tempting, but it’s almost overwhelming to be so clearly at the receiving end of Poe’s desire, to know it’s not some passing admiration, not a misunderstanding of who Luke is. It makes Luke feel a little like he’s losing his bearings. And the lights are on in the house, so Rey’s home and Luke’s definitely not ready for that conversation.

So he says, “Not — not tonight. But since you’re channeling some kind of forties war hero thing right now, you can walk me to the door.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Poe informs him.

Luke shakes his head, not bothering to hide his smile.

“See, you find me charming,” Poe says.

“That’s one way of putting things.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Poe replies, getting out of the car and coming around the other side to the sidewalk in front of the house.

It’s still snowing heavily, but Luke can see that Rey’s salted the walkway. He reaches out and tangles his fingers in Poe’s, to lead them up the path to the door. When they get there, Poe raises their intertwined hands to press a soft kiss to the back of Luke’s hand, before letting go so Luke can reach for his keys.  

“So, do I get a kiss goodbye?” Poe asks, once Luke’s got the door unlocked.

Luke reaches for Poe’s wrist, pulling him over the threshold, the screen door banging shut behind them.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, tilting his head to capture Poe’s lips, just one last time. But then Poe traces his tongue lightly over Luke’s lower lip and it’s suddenly very important to stay right here, close and sweet and nearly dizzy with longing.

Poe fumbles open the buttons of Luke’s coat and traces his hands over Luke’s sides. Luke’s sweater rides up slightly, under the upward push of Poe’s hands and Luke hisses at the sudden chill of the winter wind against his skin.

“The door,” Luke mutters, against the edge of Poe’s mouth.

With some momentary finagling, Poe kicks the door shut, settling his back against it and reaching out for Luke.

“This is a terrible idea,” Luke says, going to him, drawn. “We’re literally in my foyer and Rey’s upstairs.”

“Yeah, well, next time you should come home with me,” Poe mumbles, brushing the words over Luke’s cheek. “That would solve the problem.”

“Yeah,” Luke just barely murmurs, eyes falling shut, testing the texture Poe’s curls between his fingers as Poe whispers a kiss over the hinge of Luke’s jaw, then below his right ear. “Okay.”

When Poe trails his lips down along the column of Luke’s neck, not so much kissing as breathing hot against it, Luke can’t help the punched-out gasp he gives, the way he tightens his grip in Poe’s hair.

“Oh,” Poe says, voice a little strained, muffled against Luke’s skin. Luke can feel the way Poe’s smile spreads, pressed against Luke’s throat. “Yeah? I’ll make a note of that.”

Luke takes a breath and slips his hand out of Poe’s hair, to rest it on Poe’s chest. “For another time,” he says.

“Okay. Okay, sure,” Poe says, settling back against the door, resting for one beat, then another, and then reaching up to fix Luke’s coat collar.

Luke tries to get Poe’s hair to look less ruffled using his fingers and mostly fails. “I need to get some writing done tomorrow. You want to join me?” he asks.

“Yeah, God,” Poe sighs. “I’ve got tons of stuff I should get a head start on before the semester. Sosha’s in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, that works,” Luke agrees.

“Hey, sorry, not to make this weird for all of us, but I think the snow plow’s about to come through and bury your car, Poe,” Rey’s voice comes traveling down the stairs. “I just thought you might want to know.”

“Hi, Rey,” Poe calls up her, his voice suddenly shaking with repressed laughter. “Thanks, I appreciate the warning.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Rey calls back. “I’m going to bed now. Good night!”

“Night, Rey,” Luke says, wondering how these things can even be happening to him, at his age.

“Make good choices!” Rey’s voice trails down the stairs.

Poe starts laughing in earnest now, his shoulders heaving, hiding his face in the crook of Luke’s neck. “Okay, well, I’m going to take that as a sign I should actually leave,” he says, when he finally lifts his head.

“The gods have clearly spoken,” Luke says, a little amused himself.

“Yeah. The gods of municipal snow removal. They’re determined to keep us apart,” Poe says, making an exaggeratedly tragic expression.

“You are really so much weirder than people give you credit for,” Luke says wonderingly.

“Yeah, well, so are you, so we must be a good fit, huh?” Poe says, grinning again.

“I guess,” Luke says, helplessly endeared.

“Night, Luke,” Poe says, pressing a final, smiling, off-center kiss to Luke’s lips and stepping away. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Poe,” Luke says, grabbing Poe’s left hand as he turns to open the door. “Wait a second?”

Poe turns back around to look at Luke, his eyes dark and kind and known. And Luke has spent years learning how compassion, how devotion, are found — are made — in practice and expression.

So Luke says, “I want this. You. To see you tomorrow. All of it. I just—” he shrugs, helpless, “I want you to know that.”

Poe looks down at their joined hands, smiling softly. “That’s good to hear,” he says.

* * *

> Poe Dameron, “Space Exploration Matters for Humanities Students, Too,” _The Daily Princetonian_ , November 13, 2012.
> 
> “I suspect I was asked to write a piece on the (non?) significance of space exploration in the current day largely because someone discovered that the son of Commander Shara Bey, leader of the celebrated Yavin IV mission, was at Princeton doing a history Ph.D., of all things. What could be more damning proof that space exploration is far from anyone’s mind than an astronaut’s son choosing to do something so very Earth-bound?
> 
> But, to my mind, that question vastly underestimates the curiosity, hope, and drive of students in both the humanities and the sciences. We wonder about the generations that came before us, memorialize them, make them into stories and then try to parse how those stories came to be told as they are. So, too, we wonder about what might be out there among the stars. Both of these endeavors come with their own potential dangers, but they also come with immense rewards.”

* * *

Luke gets to Sosha’s in the late afternoon the next day, just as Poe’s setting his bag down at a table by the window. His hair is windswept and he grins when he spots Luke.

“Hi,” Poe says. “Care to join me?”

“Sure,” Luke says, unable to bite down on his own answering smile.

Luke has every intention of starting to outline his new article, but it’s unbelievably difficult, with Poe sitting just across from him, glancing up periodically from his note-taking to trail warm eyes over Luke’s shoulders. Even the brush of their knees under the table is distracting. Luke’s not thinking at all about the larger implications of international temple-building projects in Bodh Gaya.

After about an ineffectual hour and a half of Luke staring at his fieldnotes without really comprehending his own words, Poe looks up from his laptop, a little wild-eyed, and says, “I know we both said we have a lot to get done, but can we please—”

“Go?” Luke says. “Yeah, we should do that.”

As they’re waiting by the register to pay, Luke’s impossibly aware of the bare few inches of space between them, can’t resist brushing his knuckles against Poe’s just to know he’s really there. The moment they’re out the door, Poe grabs his hand, glancing back at Luke like a question, even as he’s tugging Luke over to his car.

“I can handle you holding my hand in public,” Luke says, suddenly on the verge of laughter.

“Good to know,” Poe says, grinning, only dropping Luke’s hand to go around to the driver’s side of the car.

Luke pulls open the passenger door, a little giddy.

“Wait, hold on, your car?” Poe says, halfway into the driver’s seat already.

“I walked,” Luke says, getting in the car and pulling the door closed.

“It’s twenty degrees out,” Poe points out, shutting his own door.

Luke really doesn’t want to have to explain his reasoning, but Poe is still staring at him. “I thought it might be expedient,” he says.

Poe’s still watching him closely. “Expedient.”

“If we—” Luke gestures feebly between them, “that way my car wouldn’t get towed.”

“So you were planning on getting lucky,” Poe says, grinning broadly.

“Hoping,” Luke temporizes.

Poe leans over and kisses him, hard, and Luke bites at his lower lip.

“Drive,” he says, pushing Poe back.

“Bossy,” Poe replies, but he sounds like he approves as he starts the car. Once he puts the car in drive, he reaches over for Luke’s hand, threads their fingers together. Luke squeezes just a bit, and Poe lifts their joined hands to his lips to kiss the back of Luke’s hand.

Poe’s home turns out to be the first floor of a nice little brick house on the north side of town, down a street Luke vaguely recalls having a massive pothole when he was a kid, perfect for practicing skateboard flips. They park on the curb and Luke lets go of Poe’s hand reluctantly, fumbling with the seatbelt.

“Here,” Poe says, suddenly looming close. “Let me help.” He presses the catch, but holds Luke in place, leaning in until he’s practically crawled into Luke’s lap. Which Luke really doesn’t have a problem with, but—

“You do have an actual bed, right?” he asks, in between kisses.

“Mmhmm,” Poe answers. “King-sized.”

“That’s ambitious.”

Poe’s laugh brushes across Luke’s neck, making him shiver. “You have no idea. Come on,” he adds, opening Luke’s car door and all but shoving him out into the snowdrifts. Luke is about to complain, but Poe has already gotten out of his side and circled around the car, catching his hand and yanking him up the walkway, looking at Luke over his shoulder as he drags him up the porch steps. They collide against each other at the door and Poe pulls him in for another kiss.

“Keys,” Luke suggests.

“Right,” Poe says, jangling them in his free hand. “You’ve gotta let go of me first.”

“I’m not the one who started this,” says Luke, which is an easier tack to take than actually letting go of him.

Poe huffs and shoves him back so he can open the screen door; after a moment of fumbling with the lock, he manages to get the door open. Luke follows him in and trips over something — something that bleats at him in the darkness.

“What—?”

“Oh,” says Poe, slapping at the wall until a light comes on and Luke can see an enormous calico cat twining around his legs, clearly eager to be friends. “That’s Beebee.” His eyes widen. “You’re not allergic, are you? I should’ve asked, I just didn’t think about it—”

“No, I like cats,” says Luke, which is true, although he hasn’t had a pet since Artu ran away from his house to Leia’s seven-odd years ago to cohabitate with her neurotic greyhound Threepio. It’s best that he not be responsible for living things, anyway.

“She likes you,” says Poe, and tugs at Luke’s lapels until his attention is directed back at Poe. “As do I.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Luke tells him solemnly, but he can’t help the smile on his face. It occurs to him that his cheeks are sore, he’s been smiling so much in the past few days. He can’t remember that happening before.

“Glad to hear that my cat likes you?” asks Poe, winding his hand around Luke’s scarf, pulling it off, “Or glad that I do?”

Luke makes a show of consideration. “I mean, both are good signs.”

“Mmhmm,” agrees Poe. “But only one of them is getting you laid tonight.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Poe says, although he’s tugging Luke’s jacket off in a fairly impatient manner. “I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

It’s been long enough since Luke’s kissed him, he decides, so he steps into Poe’s space, pushing him back against the door so he can catch his mouth. Poe smiles into the kiss, wrapping both arms around Luke and seeming content to stand there for however long Luke wants. But Luke presses in closer and can feel the swell of Poe’s cock against his hip, urgent. It makes him aware that whatever else he wants tonight, he doesn’t want to wait.

“Come on,” he says, against Poe’s jaw. “Let’s see this king-sized bed.”

Poe laughs and kisses Luke hard, a placeholder, before straightening up and tugging off his own jacket. He tosses both of them over a chair back — Luke has a fleeting impression of a living room set straight out of Ikea — and takes Luke by the hand again, threading their fingers together. “I even changed the sheets and everything,” he says.

“Such a romantic.”

“I can light some candles if you’d like,” Poe offers, as they stumble into a bedroom where there is, indeed, a very large bed. Beebee, who apparently beat them to it, is lounging in the middle, looking smug. “Oh, no,” Poe tells her, and scoops her up in his arms. “I’m not sharing tonight.” He lobs her gently out into the hallway and shuts the door, plunging the room into darkness. “Where were we?”

“You were going to light some candles,” Luke says, “which might not be a bad thing.” Poe huffs and turns on the light next to the bed, showing a nightstand crowded with books and papers and notepads. Luke doesn’t comment — his own nightstand at home isn’t much better. Instead he steps back into Poe’s space, sliding his right arm around Poe’s back, smoothing down Poe’s chest with his hand.

“You want me to take this off, maybe?” Poe murmurs, and Luke nods, his throat suddenly too dry to say anything. “Okay, but I’m going to want a little reciprocation.” And he steps back just far enough to pull off his henley with one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him.

Luke, who was all set to fumble at the buttons of his own shirt, freezes. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, Poe seems to glow, all golden-brown skin and dark hair, beautiful in a way altogether unexpected and terrifying. Luke can only stare at him for long moments as Poe turns back to face him.

“Hey,” Poe says, with a soft grin, “what’s the hold up?”

Luke swipes his hand over his mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, half-despairing, half-melting with anticipatory desire. “It’s like Bernini sculpted you or something.”

Poe pauses. “Bernini,” he repeats.

“Let’s forget I just said that,” Luke says quickly.

“Oh, no,” Poe says, “that’s definitely not happening.” He tugs at Luke’s shirt, untucking it from his trousers and using the tails to pull Luke in for another kiss.

“You’re grinning,” says Luke, suspicious.

“I’m happy,” Poe replies, his grin getting even wider.

“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

“No one’s ever told me I look like a Baroque sculpture before,” Poe says, mouth against Luke’s ear, as he undoes the rest of the buttons of Luke’s shirt.

“First time for everything?” Luke says, flushed with the contact.

“To say the least,” Poe agrees, and now he really is laughing. “But if you’re going to give me a new experience tonight,” he continues as his hands slide against Luke’s bare skin, fingers tucking in under the waist of his trousers, “It’s only fair that I give you one, too.”

“I have actually had sex before,” Luke says. “Believe it or not.”

“Yeah, but not sex with _me_ ,” Poe points out in a reasonable tone of voice, reaching up now to slide Luke’s glasses off carefully and place them on the nightstand. “Totally different thing.”

“Is that right?” Luke says, blinking.

Poe nods solemnly as he unbuckles Luke’s belt with startling speed. “I probably should’ve told you to stretch or something beforehand.”

Luke is all set to retort when Poe slips his hand into his boxers and takes Luke’s cock in his grip, perfect and breathtaking, and Luke can’t remember what he was about to say. He braces his right arm against Poe’s shoulder, resting his forehead on it as he looks down to see Poe’s fist encircling him. “Bed,” he manages, pushing feebly at Poe.

“Like I said, bossy,” Poe laughs, but he lets Luke sit down on the bed and shuck off his pants — or try to, since he forgot his shoes are still on. Poe kneels down and takes them off for him, stripping his socks at the same time. “I refuse to fuck anyone who’s got _socks_ on,” he explains, tugging Luke’s pants and boxers down his legs.

“That’s where you draw the line?” Luke says, although he doesn’t quite manage the tone he wanted because Poe’s gotten back up to his feet and is staring down at him, clearly taking in every inch, and it makes Luke want to grab at a pillow or the blanket or something.

But Poe grins at the comment and takes off his own pants, crawling onto the bed over Luke. “Just for that,” he says, settling on top of Luke, “I’m keeping _mine_ on.”

“While you fuck me?” Luke asks, curling his legs around Poe’s waist, a little higher than is comfortable, but that comment about stretching deserves a comeback. And he wants — _God_ , he wants it, wants Poe, everything, all at once.

“Jesus,” Poe swears, his hips pressing down and in against Luke’s, his cock hot against Luke’s stomach. “You just—” he kisses Luke instead of finishing the sentence, which Luke doesn’t really mind. “I don’t think I can last that long tonight,” he confesses against Luke’s neck, his breath driving Luke half-crazy. “But believe me, I’ve got _plans_ for you.”

Luke manages to get his hand in Poe’s hair in order to keep Poe’s mouth busy at Luke’s neck right where he’s wanted him for a distracting twenty-four hours. “I’ve been thinking about this,” Poe mumbles, between hot, lingering kisses along the length of Luke’s throat. “I swear I’ve never spent so much time thinking about someone having a single button undone on his shirt before.”

Luke laughs, the sensation bubbling up through his chest.

“You laughing at me?” Poe says, looking up, grinning. This close, Luke can properly admire the way his eyes go bright with mirth.  

“Only a little,” Luke promises.

In response, Poe drags his teeth down to his collarbone and Luke can’t help bucking his hips, already so close just from this. Poe hisses at the friction and pushes Luke farther down into the mattress like he’s trying to hold him in place, but Luke can’t stop pushing up against him, desperate to come, his ankles linked together at the small of Poe’s back to give himself some kind of leverage and to pull Poe closer.

“Yeah,” Poe whispers, harsh in his ear, “Yeah, give it to me, you’re so good, God, Luke, c’mon,” and Luke inhales sharply and comes, feeling hollowed-out. Poe makes a satisfied noise against the hinge of his jaw and Luke uses the grip he still has to angle Poe’s head for a kiss, nipping at Poe’s bottom lip as he feels himself going loose and lazy in the afterglow. Poe shifts slightly and works his own hand between them, pulling at his cock while Luke kisses him. He comes with a sigh, breathing into Luke’s mouth as he rides it out, looking blissful and more beautiful than anything Luke’s ever seen.

Luke manages (with some regret) to untangle his fingers from Poe’s hair, brushing the back of his hand against Poe’s cheek. Poe, his eyes closed, smiles at the touch, turning to mouth at Luke’s fingers. He settles down half on top of Luke, his head on Luke’s right arm with their legs tangled together.

“I didn’t know you were that flexible,” he mumbles after a minute, rolling his neck so he’s looking up at Luke. He trails his hand up Luke’s side, laughing as Luke twitches. “I’ll have to make a note of that.”

“You’re taking an awful lot of notes,” Luke observes, catching Poe’s hand with his.

“I’m a dedicated researcher,” Poe mumbles, already drifting off. Luke shuts his eyes and does the same, to the sound of Poe breathing and, outside the room, Beebee protesting her exile.

When Luke wakes, it’s abruptly, like something he’s forgotten is calling him out of sleep. For a second he means to sit up, but Poe’s warm weight is still half-sprawled across Luke’s body, Poe’s steady breathing in his ear. It’s been years since Luke had the experience of waking up with someone for the first time.

The clock on the nightstand reads 9:47pm. “Oh, shit,” Luke says, trying to gently disentangle himself from Poe’s limbs. Poe makes a sleepy, disgruntled noise and shifts onto his side, reluctantly blinking his eyes open.

“Sorry,” Luke murmurs as he slides out of bed and reaches for his glasses, “I just need to find my phone.” He pats down the pockets of his trousers as he pulls them back on. “I’m going to call Rey. I don’t want her worrying.”

“Okay. Was it in your jacket?” Poe asks, sitting up slowly, squinting. His hair is mussed from sleep and the grip Luke had on it. Luke’s been weak at the knees before — literally, physically — and he associates the sensation with hospitals and a frustrating, terrifying lack of control. The experience of looking at Poe now deserves a better expression than that, something delicate and thrilling and yes, a little frightening.

“Probably,” Luke manages, slipping back on his shirt. He can’t be bothered buttoning it, but he’s faintly chilly, no longer wrapped up in sheets and blankets and Poe’s arms. “I’m just going to go check.” Poe nods, still bleary-eyed. Because it seems right (and because he wants to), Luke leans down and kisses him. Poe makes a contented humming sound and rests a warm hand on Luke's hip, stroking his thumb over the skin there.

“Hi,” Poe says, smiling, when Luke pulls back.

“Hey.” Luke breathes out, almost a laugh, feeling somehow more secure now.

“Your jacket should be in the living room,” Poe says, pressing another firm, quick kiss to Luke’s lips.

Luke slaps on a light in the living room, taking in the room properly this time. Beebee is sleeping on the couch, curled up on a fuzzy blanket. In the corner between the windows, a guitar is resting on a stand. Most of the bookshelves are identical, as if Poe had just picked one design and bought multiples of it, which amuses Luke more than it probably should. Poe's book collection isn't as massive as the one Luke's amassed in his own house over the years, but it's still impressively extensive. Glancing around, Luke sees that his scarf has fallen on the floor and his jacket and Poe’s are flung precariously over a wing back chair. He fishes out his phone out of a pocket to call Rey.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” Rey asks.

“Yeah,” Luke says immediately. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Everything’s fine,” Rey says, sounding amused now. “I just thought you were with Poe.”

“I am,” Luke says. “I just didn’t want you imagining I’d ended up in a ditch somewhere if I wasn’t home tonight.”

Rey mumbles, “Okay. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Luke says, gentle. “You eat dinner yet?”

“It’s almost ten,” Rey says. “Of course I ate.”

“Just checking,” Luke says. “Sometimes you get pretty single-minded when you’re reading.”

“I never forget _food_ ,” Rey says, sounding offended by the possibility.

Just as Luke hangs up, Poe wanders out in his boxers and a worn-out Princeton t-shirt. He’s wearing his glasses now — he must have fallen asleep with his contacts in, a thought that makes Luke feel a weird rush of affection for him.

“Everything okay?” Poe asks, smiling softly and running a hand through his hair.

“I just felt like I should let Rey know I didn’t just disappear off somewhere, especially if I’m not coming home tonight — not that I’m assuming—” Luke can feel himself going red, which is totally absurd, given that not so long ago he was naked and in bed with Poe.

Poe grins, walking over to hook his fingers in Luke’s belt loops. “Trust me, I’m definitely okay with you staying the night.”

“Okay,” Luke says, his chest going warm.

“Good,” Poe says. “How do you feel about breakfast for — well, not really dinner anymore?”

“I’m a fan of breakfast foods,” Luke agrees. He starts to re-button his shirt, because he’s beginning to feel a little ridiculous standing in Poe’s living room, barefoot and only partly dressed.

“Let me?” Poe asks. Luke nods and Poe reaches out to do up the buttons. He leaves the top two undone and smooths his hands down Luke’s chest, smiling. Then he leans in and kisses Luke thoroughly — his mouth tastes sharp and minty, like mouthwash. “So I make amazing omelets,” Poe says, as he steps back a little, in the direction of the kitchen.

“That sounds promising,” Luke agrees. “Can I help?”

“No, you’ll be distracting,” Poe says.

“Is that right?” Luke asks, unable to bite down on his grin.

“I’m going to burn something if you’re standing right there looking all tousled,” Poe says as he goes around the island counter that separates the kitchen.

“Well, then, in the name of preserving your dignity and preventing a fire hazard,” Luke replies.

Poe grins over his shoulder, pulling out a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Just hang out and let me wow you with my culinary skills.”

“You’re really building this up now,” Luke says.  

Poe places a frying pan on the stove top and replies with a bright, wicked grin, “Only because I know I can deliver.”

Luke presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, caught somewhere between a smile and a laugh. “Okay,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

Luke wanders over to the overstuffed bookshelves — this one is mostly biographies and social histories, with a scattering of German philosophy; the bottom shelf of the next one is all massive archaeology tomes. The bookshelf closest to the couch seems to be mostly novels. As Luke glances over the spines, his eyes catch on a familiar title.

Luke gently slides out an old copy of _Solar Wind, Arbor Rain_. “This is from the first printing,” he observes.

“What?” Poe says.

“Your copy of _Solar Wind_ ,” Luke says, holding it up.

“Oh, yeah,” Poe says with a lopsided smile. “I think one of my cousins gave it to me. I must have been twelve, thirteen maybe, when I first read it. Open it up. You signed it, that time my mom met you.”

“Oh,” Luke responds. His neck starts to prickle with discomfort. Suddenly all his reasons for hesitating are present in the room with them — because when Poe was thirteen, Luke was already a tenure-track professor, and this has to be incredibly ill-advised at best. “Right.”

“My mom totally didn’t get it, why I loved that book so much,” Poe says, looking down at the cheese he’s grating. “I remember I was so annoyed at her and my dad that week, because they wouldn’t take me to D.C. with them. And then she came back with my book — I hadn’t even noticed it was missing—” Poe glances up at Luke.

Luke nods to show he’s listening, because Poe is giving him a story, something dear and willingly shared.  

Poe continues, “It meant a lot, you know? She brought it with her and made sure to find you and ask you to sign it, just because.” Then he hesitates oddly. There’s something else held there behind Poe’s lips, still unspoken, so Luke waits, with all the patience he’s forced himself to learn over the years because this is Poe and it’s important. “I like you, a lot,” Poe says. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and Luke wants to smooth his frown away with gentle fingers. “It’s not because of the books, though. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, because he does. And the possibility of this — of being able to walk over to Poe and slide his hand up under his t-shirt to feel smooth, bare skin and to kiss his smiling mouth whenever he wants — that’s worth wrestling with the fear, the uncertainty. He asks, “What did I write?” holding up the book.

“I meant it,” Poe says. “You can read it.”

So Luke opens up the book. The spine’s starting to crack from age and re-reading, and his own handwriting is scrawled across the inside cover.

_Dear Poe,_  
_It’s very exciting to hear that someone whose mom is a real life spacefarer loves this book so much! Maya and her friends are, of course, close to my heart, too. It’s always wonderful knowing their story has struck a chord._  
_This is a bit of secret still, but a sequel is in the works! It might be a few more years before you can pick that up at a bookstore, though. For now, might I suggest Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein? It’s a favorite of mine and I’ve found it only gets better with re-reading._  
_Whatever adventures your future may hold — and I am sure they will be impressive — I am grateful you chose to share in those of Maya, Teo and Anjali._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Luke Skywalker_

“I told you about the second book,” Luke says, finally, because there’s any number of things he could say but this is what stands out, for whatever reason. “I don’t think I was supposed to do that. I’m pretty sure my editor wanted to wait to put out an announcement.”

Poe smiles a little. “I guess now we know you’ve remained consistently terrible at handling most aspects of being a published author.”

“Evidently,” Luke says, slipping the book back in place on the shelf. Poe’s shoulders still seem slightly tense. It’s unnatural on him, when the lines of his body are built for ease, for lounging in sunlight. So Luke goes around the counter to kiss his cheek. “Hey,” Luke murmurs, curling into Poe’s side. “I really like you, too.” Poe looks over at him, eyes a little wide and liquid-warm, and then what Luke had intended to be a brief, reassuring kiss ends up deep and lingering as Poe shifts to face him.

Poe finally pushes Luke back lightly, almost a caress. “See, this is what I was saying. You’re being very distracting.” He’s smiling again.

“Sorry,” Luke says, smiling back.

“But since you’re standing here already, you might as well stick around, watch the magic up close,” Poe says.

“Might as well,” Luke agrees, settling against the counter by the stove. Poe manages to flip over the omelet without breaking anything. “Okay. I’m impressed,” Luke admits.  

“I have many skills,” Poe says.

“I’m sure. Can I ask you something?” Luke says, hesitating, not even entirely sure he wants the answer to this. But since they’re on a roll with uncomfortable topics, he might as well get it all out at once. “When you were in college, how did you even end up — I mean, the whole History department knew that you had a crush—” Luke stops abruptly, eyes widening with the realization he’s just shared something he didn’t really intend to.

But Poe just laughs, as he grabs plates and dumps toast on both. “It’s not like they’re wrong.”

“But why?” Luke asks, at a loss. “I mean, you didn’t even take any of my classes. I would understand that—”

“Oh, yeah?” Poe asks, grinning. “You get a lot of students trying to seduce you after class or something?”

“I’ve had some . . . interesting conversations in office hours over the years,” Luke says.

“Undergrads,” Poe says, shaking his head, “shameless _and_ incorrigible.”

“I imagine you would know,” Luke says. He ends up sounding more affectionate than teasing, but finds he doesn’t mind.

“Hey, at least I never outright propositioned you in office hours,” Poe says, glancing over at Luke and smiling. “I think it was — okay, so, my freshman year you did one of the talks for the Chancellor’s Lectures. They’d given you the one on ethics. Jess and I went — neither of us had seen you around and I guess we were curious. And you gave this whole talk about the monks you know and ethics as embodied practice. You said they taught you that exercising compassion was a constant process. That it was something you had to train your body and mind into by doing it over and over. And then you said we were all capable of that. Like we could all walk out of the lecture hall and change the world just like that. I kept thinking about it for weeks.”

It’s an odd experience, to hear his own thoughts repeated back to him, traveling through years and Poe’s mind to arrive here, again, in front of Luke.

“I’m not sure what it says about either of us that my talking about monastic codes in practice elicited that reaction,” Luke says, strangely fascinated by the sight of their bare feet side-by-side on the wooden floor.

Poe laughs as he drops half the omelet onto each plate. “You were very earnest about non-violence and improving the world. After that I just noticed you around a lot. You were so buttoned-up all the time. Made me want get you all rumpled,” he says, grinning and holding out a plate to Luke. “But that’s just how eighteen-year-old me ended up infatuated enough to go out and read your academic stuff.”

“I guess I should appreciate the dedication involved,” Luke says.

“It is my signature,” Poe says, as they walk over to the dining table and sit down. “Should have seen me my first year of grad school — I had this epic thing for someone in the cohort above mine. _That_ was bad. I went on a research trip with my adviser over the summer, then when I got back to Princeton the next fall, she was pretty much engaged to this sociologist she’d met in her summer French class. Crushing.” Poe shakes his head dramatically.

“And here I thought sociology was basically an unromantic discipline,” Luke says.  

Poe kicks his ankle lightly under the table. “Eat your food.”

Luke picks up a forkful of omelet and admits easily and immediately, “Okay, that’s definitely as good as promised.”

“What did I tell you?” Poe says, grinning brightly.

With that first bite, Luke’s suddenly aware of how hungry he actually is; it seems that Poe feels similarly, so they eat in companionable silence. When Poe stands, carrying his plate, Luke slides his chair back, intending to help.

“I got this,” Poe says, grabbing Luke’s plate and leaning down to kiss him. When he’s dumped the plates in the dishwasher and started it running, he returns to the table, smiling. “Come back to bed with me?” he says and holds out his hand.

Luke takes it, standing and stepping in closer. “So if omelets were what you were going to do for breakfast, does that mean you’re pulling off a repeat performance tomorrow morning?” he asks, wrapping his right arm around Poe’s back.

“Hey, I can cook more than one thing,” Poe says. “For all you know, I might get really fancy, break out the waffle maker.”

“I do love waffles. But then how am I supposed to know if you can do that omelet flipping trick consistently?” Luke asks, attempting to sound serious and failing.

“Consistently,” Poe echoes, eyes growing even brighter. “I guess I’ll just have to make you breakfast again some time, huh?”

“Multiple times, probably,” Luke says. “Twice could just be luck.”

“I think I can manage that,” Poe says. Luke thinks he’s aiming for resigned, but he’s grinning too hard to sell it.

* * *

> Luke Amidala-Lars, Philadelphia, PA, personal letter to Leia Amidala-Lars, Cambridge, MA, October 18, 1992.
> 
> “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said yesterday on the phone, about having something for myself that isn’t just the work and I think you’re right. So I’ve decided to start writing again. Not more of my proposal, which The Adviser would love, of course (or as much as Yoda believes in loving anything that isn’t answering all our questions by quoting Zen koans in Japanese and then walking away laughing, as if that’s at all clarifying), but maybe something playing around with the characters from those short stories I wrote for my Short Fiction class my senior year of college.
> 
> I had kind of forgotten that’s something I actually really love. I guess after college it never felt appropriately serious, but I think that’s what I need right now. And who knows? Maybe there's something there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Mirabai, “The Long Drought Is Over,” trans. John Hawley and Robert Bly, in _Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems_ , ed. Robert Bly and Jane Hirshfield (Boston: Beacon Press, 2004), 50. [back to the story]
> 
> 2 Pablo Neruda, “Ode to Things,” in _Odes to Common Things_ , trans. Ferris Cook and Ken Krabbenhoft (New York: Bulfinch, 1994), 12. [back to the story]


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would like to thank [leupagus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus) and [Spatz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatz/) for their incredible patience, editorial insight, and much-appreciated support. You may have noticed the addition of a co-author! The amazing [inmyriadbits](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inmyriadbits) wrote the second half of the scene where Luke gets back from the airport and also basically walked step by step through many of the scenes in this chapter to help me finally finish. This chapter wouldn't exist without her and she deserves all the kudos for all the work she's put into this fic (and for finding a way to realize my footnote-obsessed vision of how this fic should look)! 
> 
> Finally, if you are leaving a comment for this fic between mid-June and mid-August 2016, apologies but my responses might be delayed as I will be abroad with limited internet access.
> 
> And now, we leave you with a poem:
> 
> **The Long Drought is Over**
> 
> My Beloved has come home with the rains,  
> And the fire of longing is doused.  
> Now is the time for singing, the time of union.  
> At the first thunderclap,  
> Even the peacocks open their tails with pleasure and dance.  
> Giridhara is in my courtyard, and my wandering heart has returned.  
> Like lilies that blossom under the full moon’s light,  
> I open to him in this rain: every pore of my body is cooled.  
> Mira’s separation and torment are over.  
> He who comes to those who love has remembered his promise.
> 
> — Mirabai (trans. Bly)

> Luke Amidala-Lars, Washington, D.C., personal letter to Dak Ralter and Aditi Malhotra, Theed, CT, August 12, 2000.
> 
> “I’m guessing this will probably get to you guys after I get home myself, but what the hell, right? It’s been kind of a strange day and I thought it might be helpful to write it out. Mara’s at rehearsal and I’m sitting at a cafe in Georgetown where my mother used to bring us for breakfast sometimes on the weekends, when she was in the Senate.
> 
> I don’t know if you were watching on the news, but today was the Yavin IV launch. My mom went down to Cape Canaveral for it. She asked Leia and I to come and now I sort of wish we had. I don’t think I ever told either of you this, but Leia and I have never been back there since our father died. I can go what feels like long stretches of time without thinking about him, because if I’m being honest, I don’t really remember him — just snippets, impressions, the things he left behind. But today, watching that launch, of course all I could think about was him, how he got all that glory in death but none of the triumph of coming home.
> 
> And I’ve guess I’ve been thinking about all the different lives, all the different deaths, I might have had myself — the choices I’ve made that brought me here, now. My monks and nuns always tell me being born human is a rare opportunity. It’s an important thing to be reminded of, I think. And that was the good part of today — imagining how some day, kids are going to talk about how Shara Bey and her team inspired them to choose their own careers. It’s kind of extraordinary. The things humans are capable of, huh?”

* * *

It's three weeks into the new semester and Theed’s in the middle of a terrible cold spell when Luke ends up hauling in copies of his archival material and an assortment of random paraphernalia from last summer’s trip to campus, for a kind of show-and-tell with his Religion, Culture, Ethnography grad seminar.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Poe says, walking up to him in parking garage, tugging down his scarf from where it was covering his mouth to grin.

“Hi,” Luke says, smiling back. It’s as if he’s warmed just from seeing Poe, and even as he’s aware of how ridiculous that is, Luke wraps himself in the sensation. When Poe’s close enough, Luke leans in, to steal a lingering kiss.  

“Mmm, good morning,” Poe murmurs.

Luke pulls back to say, “Good morning.”

“You moving or something?” Poe asks, looking at the open trunk of Luke’s car.

“It’s mostly these art pieces I’m using for this new project,” Luke explains. “I’m bringing them in for my grad seminar to look at, so we can talk about how to use visual sources in ethnographies.”

“Here, I got it,” Poe says, grabbing the box. “You need to digitize this shit,” he adds, as they exit the parking garage. “Get with the times.”

Luke shrugs — his battle with the fifth-floor copy machine is constantly ongoing but that’s not even the main issue. “Yeah, but a lot of it’s on cloth and we’ve been talking about the issues with translating the significance of materiality, so I thought—” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke spots Aditi coming around the corner, not so much waving as throwing her hands up in resentful defeat.

“My God, can you believe this?” Aditi says. “What is this weather? We should leave here, go to Mumbai.”

Poe makes a commiserating humming noise, pulling his scarf back up almost to his eyes one-handed.

“We taking Dak with us?” Luke asks, trudging alongside her and Poe up University Hill. “Or just the kids?”

Aditi clicks her tongue. “That man, he has the audacity to tell me on Saturday, when it is seven degrees Fahrenheit, that he is glad our children got to grow up playing in the snow! And I thought, my god, they’re sixteen and fourteen, enough playing in the snow. They should be sitting by the sea in my city!”

“How did that letter Woolf wrote to Vita Sackville-West go?” Luke asks, grinning. “‘Look here, Vita, throw over your man— ?’”

“‘And we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river and walk in the moonlight . . . .’ Actually, it’s a very long sentence, quite a few parts to it — very characteristic,” Aditi says thoughtfully.1 “But, listen, if Dak continues this patent absurdity, I may take you up on the offer, whether you are serious or not.”

“You know I’ve always got your back,” Luke says.

“You think I could come along?” Poe asks, slightly muffled from behind his scarf. “I’m really regretting ever leaving Florida right now.”

“That seems like an extreme reaction,” Luke says.

Poe elbows him in the upper arm. “Hey, don’t badmouth Florida. We’re the home of American space flight. And alligators.”

They finally reach Apailana Hall and Aditi fairly sighs from relief when they all tumble through the double doors. “Okay,” she says, nodding in the direction of the English department offices. “I need to go shed all the bloody layers I’m wearing now.”

“See you,” Luke says, hitting the button for the elevator.

“So, Virginia Woolf’s love letters, huh?” Poe asks, as they get in.

“Reading those letters was kind of an enlightening moment for me, in my youth,” Luke says.

“Enlightening,” Poe repeats, with an amused smile. “So high school you was into skateboarding, hitting people with fake swords, and reading Virginia Woolf’s love letters.”

“The Woolf stuff was more of a thing in college. Anyway, she really knew how to write,” Luke says.

“That’s true,” Poe agrees.  

As they get out of the elevator on the fifth floor and walk into Luke’s office, Luke adds, “I guess it was the first time I really understood that a person could actually write that way to another person, in real life.”

“See, for me that moment was when I first read Pablo Neruda,” Poe says, dumping the box on Luke’s desk and then turning around to regard Luke. “He’s even better in the original Spanish.”

“I’m sure,” Luke murmurs, feeling himself go dry-mouthed already.

Poe closes the gap between them. His black-gloved hands reach out, unzip Luke’s coat, and come to rest on Luke’s waist, creasing the starched cotton of his shirt. Luke brings his arms up, to rest them against Poe’s chest, grabbing the lapel of Poe’s coat in his hand.

“ _Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo,_ ” Poe says. He strokes his thumbs over Luke’s rib cage, in a way Luke has become intimately familiar with in the past few weeks. Luke rests his forehead against Poe’s, bites his lower lip, lets his eyes fall shut. “ _Y por las calles nutrirme, callado, no me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia, busco el sonido líquido de tus pies en el día_ ,” Poe continues.2 His lips are so close that Luke thrums with anticipation, awaiting the lush heat of Poe’s mouth against his own.

But Poe just leans back, grinning.

“You are awful,” Luke says hoarsely.

“I know, having someone quote love poetry at you and then do absolutely nothing is pretty frustrating, huh?” Poe says.

“That was months ago. And definitely not the same thing,” Luke protests.

“Let me assure you, it was a real exercise in self-control for me,” Poe says. “Anyway, I’d say sorry, but you’d know I was lying.” Poe presses a single, firm, closed-mouth kiss to Luke’s lips. Then he says, “Okay, I actually really have to go prep for my class.”

Luke lets go of his grip on Poe’s coat, smoothing it back down. “Poe,” Luke says as they step apart. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, sticking his hands in his pockets, smiling in that delighted, affectionate way that makes his laugh lines noticeable. Then, like he can’t help it, he leans in to kiss Luke once more. “I’ll see you then.”

When he’s gone, Luke closes his office door, thumps his head back against it, gently, and takes a deep breath.

* * *

> Obi-Wan Kenobi, Theed, CT, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Tosche, NM, May 7, 1986.
> 
> “I was thinking this morning of how terribly odd it’s been, going through a whole academic year without you once trooping up all those stairs to poke your head into my office. My students have noticed it, too. I think they found it reassuring to see you around. They ask after you periodically and are quite excited to hear you’ve decided to go on to Berkeley as originally planned. They’re even more pleased to hear that you’re thinking of taking a religion class or two once you get there. I dare say they’re hoping you’ll be converted, so to speak.
> 
> But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves! That’s all months away, of course, and even then you will have the opportunity to weigh the many fascinating options before having to choose.”

* * *

Suddenly the semester seems to be melting away beneath Luke’s feet, a blur of books and kisses and writing and probably too many early mornings involving Luke returning to his own house semi-covertly, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, just with extra cat hair on them. And then it’s a weekend in mid-March, spring break around the corner.

When Luke walks into Han’s garage, Chewie is bear-hugging Rey’s friend Finn, who looks like he’s having trouble breathing, and Rey is shaking Han’s shoulder, pointing to the computer screen, beaming and saying, “Look!”

“I see it, kid, I see it,” Han says, smiling a little.

“Hi,” Luke says slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Luke,” Rey yells, “I got in! Theed, I got in!”

“That’s amazing!” Luke says, stumbling backwards a little as Rey tackles him into an exuberant hug. “See, I knew it. We should celebrate — get lunch.”  

“We should go to the diner,” Rey says, jumping up and down a little. “Waffles, milkshakes! Finn, come with us!”

“Oh,” Finn says, going a little wide-eyed. “Uh.”

“You should definitely come if you’re not busy,” Luke says. Every time Luke’s seen Finn — usually in passing, when he comes by the house to head somewhere with Rey — he’s always snapped into what looks like uncomfortably upright posture. Luke remembers Finn’s wince the first time they'd met and hopes that he isn’t hurting his back.

Finn looks over at Rey, who’s grinning, and starts smiling widely himself. “Yeah,” he says, “of course I’ll come with you.”

“Okay, great, we’re taking the Falcon then!” Rey says, grabbing Finn’s hand — he looks down, beaming — and pulling him out the door. “Meet you there!”

‘Hey!” Han yells, though he stops in the doorframe, shaking his head as Rey and Finn drive off. “Goddamn teenagers,” he mutters, hands on his hips. Chewie shakes his head at it all. “Make sure she brings that car back,” Han says, pointing at Luke.  

“I’ll do my best,” Luke only half-promises.

On the ride over, Luke wonders absently if Rey’s going to too-casually slip the fact that Finn’s almost definitely her boyfriend into conversation anytime soon. But then again, it’s not like she really has to say anything, when it’s clear in the way they always hug goodbye and the ease with which Rey reaches out to hold Finn’s hand.

When he gets to the diner, Rey and Finn have already commandeered a booth in the back and are laughing about something. Luke pauses for a moment, near the entrance, just to observe — it’s always good to see Rey happy, something Luke sometimes worries happens more often when she’s around cars than when she’s around people. Just then Rey spots Luke and grins, waving him over.

Over the course of lunch, Rey keeps prodding Finn to talk about various things, like how he’s an EMT with the university volunteer ambulance corps — “Mostly we get drunk students,” Finn confesses. “Or, um, old people? Who fell the down the stairs or something. That’s always pretty sad.” — and how his parents are both teachers, and how his little sister wants to be a painter or a librarian one day, and how he’s thinking about working in one of the bio labs over the summer.

Which leads back to Finn asking politely about Luke’s own research and summer plans.

“You’re going back to India, right? Rey’s been telling me how excited she is to be going with you this year,” Finn says, fiddling with a sugar packet, then tearing it open to dump it in his tea.

“Yeah, it should be good. We’re trying something I haven’t done since — I think since my dissertation fieldwork, visiting all four of the major Buddhist pilgrimage sites in North India and Nepal in one trip,” Luke explains.

“Oh, cool,” Finn says, nodding earnestly. “So how long is all that going to take?”

“Well, actually, this trip’s going to a little bit shorter than usual,” Luke says absently, distracted thinking through the logistics of it all again. “Normally I try to leave by the end of May, but I’m thinking the soonest it makes sense to go is at least a couple days after your graduation,” he adds, turning to Rey, who nods, mouth full. “So it’s going to be about eight weeks, I guess.”

“Eight weeks?” Finn repeats, his fork clattering abruptly to his plate. “Oh. But that’s the whole summer, pretty much.”

Rey looks up and swallows, eyes widening. “I forgot you wouldn’t just know.” She sounds sort of like Leia, who often assumes Han remembers parts of Leia and Luke’s lives that he wasn’t actually there for, because he’s been through so much right alongside them.

“It’s no big deal,” Finn says, although it’s pretty obvious that’s not true, given his expression. Then he adds, almost painfully sincere, “I’m excited that you’re excited. You’re going to have so many awesome stories when you get back.”

Luke looks back and forth between Rey and Finn, feeling like he’s in the middle of what should really be a private conversation. But since he’s here anyway, he might as well try to be reassuring. “We’ll have internet access when we’re in Bodh Gaya. And there’s a lot of new development now, in the other places we’re planning to go. It’s gotten a lot easier to stay in contact, the past decade or so,” he offers, because it’s true, even though his own communication skills haven’t exactly improved to match.

“Yeah! I’ll email and we’ll Skype! And there’s all sorts of messaging apps and calling cards, so we’ll definitely do that, and I’ll take so many photos, it’ll be like you were there with us the whole time,” Rey lists off quickly, leaning in across the table to regard Finn at close range.

“Okay,” Finn says, smiling again. “Cool. Yeah. I mean, that sounds great.”

“I’m going to bring you back the best gift,” Rey says, very seriously, like she’s committed herself to a mission of the utmost importance.

Luke badly wants to laugh, but resists, because he knows it’s important.

Finn nods at Rey, still grinning brightly, and then says suddenly, and very seriously, “But not anything . . . living, okay? I don’t want you to get in trouble with customs.”

Rey laughs cheerfully, which is honestly sort of alarming.

After lunch, Finn and Rey head off to see a movie and Luke heads home, thinking how distant eighteen seems now.

For a moment he wishes, as he sometimes does, that Ben Kenobi could have met Rey. But maybe it’s enough that Luke can almost see him in any number of small preferences Ben left him with that he’s somehow passed on to Rey in turn — the kinds of tea she likes, her fondness for Dickens. Luke isn’t Rey’s father and Ben wasn’t his, but he’s tried to be there for scraped knees and soccer games and questions about God. And it’s shaped his life in ways he could never have guessed. Luke thinks if Uncle Ben were here, he’d have been proud of Rey, too, just as astonished by her brilliant mind, her resilience.

“I’m glad I finally got to have a real conversation with Finn,” Luke says, in the evening, when they’re both home, half-watching some documentary on penguins.

“Yeah,” Rey agrees, a little shy. “He’s pretty great, right? We’re um,” she pauses, “we’re kind of dating, I guess.”

Luke nods. “Yeah. I had sort of deduced that.”

Rey huffs. “Well, now I’m _telling_ you.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees. “Thank you for that.” He glances over at her, slouched on the couch. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Rey picks at the rip at the knee of her jeans for a second and grins. “Me too,” she says.

* * *

> Mara Jade, New York, NY, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Bodh Gaya, India, October 17, 1993.
> 
> “Airmail is so incredibly old fashioned, Amidala. This is probably going to get to you ages from now and more to the point, there are these things called phones, you know. But I digress — I know you have some weird idea that letters are a great, dying artform or something, because God knows you spent enough late nights rambling to me about that when we were in college. So I’ll be the better friend and indulge you.”

* * *

Poe slides into Luke’s office, grinning, the following Monday afternoon. “Guess who’s definitely going back to Tikal this summer?”

“You, I’m guessing?” Luke asks, amused. “You got that grant?”

“What can I say?” Poe replies, dropping casually down into the chair opposite Luke’s desk. “I have a talent for getting people to throw money at me.”

“Of course that’s how you’d put it,” Luke says.

“I have to get my plane tickets,” Poe says, drumming his fingers in excitement against the chair armrests. “I’m thinking maybe four, five weeks out there? Split between Tikal and the archives in Cuidad de Guatemala, probably. You figure out when you and Rey are leaving?”

“No, not yet,” Luke says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, I did tell you that the plan is to be gone from early June to mid-August, right?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, looking at Luke with quizzical amusement. “Only every time you’ve bitched about visa stuff.”

“I feel like I should warn you,” Luke says, because he wants to be truthful with Poe, “you might not hear from me as — as much you should. According to Leia, I’m incredibly bad at keeping in touch. Or well, she says at letting people know I’m even still alive.”

And that — that is the part where things have tended to break down for him, historically. Luke was raised in motion by a woman bent on rescuing humanity from its own worst impulses, and if he’s since learned to stand still, it’s been over cups of tea and in temple courtyards, his voice recorder held out. (He’s wondered sometimes if he picked a pilgrimage site to study for the last twenty-five years because he wanted to know what that was like: a place that called people home.)

“Personally, I frequently find that dead people are the most interesting,” Poe says.

“Oh, good,” Luke laughs, startled out of his concern at least momentarily. “Because that’s not a creepy thing to say at all.”

“Just telling the truth,” Poe says. “I absolutely maintain that Tikal and my archives are inherently more interesting as a topic, but I recognize that your whole living human subjects thing blinds you to that.”

“They’re not subjects — they’re our informants, or consultants,” Luke says.

“Pedantic isn’t a good look on you,” Poe replies.  

“Hey, this one’s actually a question of professional ethics,” Luke protests. Then he refocuses because that wasn’t the point anyway. “But I was being serious before. I mean, Leia’s exaggerating a little bit. But less than should probably be true. I am apparently notorious among the faculty for being unreachable when I’m not in Theed.”

“Okay,” Poe says, dragging out the word, sitting up and starting to frown slightly. “But you _are_ planning on letting me know you haven’t died, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, caught somewhere between a question and a statement. He hasn’t really let himself think too much about what’s going to happen when they’re on different continents, the other side of night and day from one another, because things have been good and some questions are more dangerous than others.

“Okay,” Poe says again, slouching back down into his chair again. “Well, I’m definitely planning to let you know I’m alive, so that’s good.”

“Good,” Luke echoes, faintly. It should be relieving — and it is, wonderfully so — but it’s hard to believe it could be as easy as that.

But then Poe smiles at him softly and asks, eyes glinting with mischief, “So, what’re you up to tonight?”

“Cooking dinner with Rey,” Luke says. “She wants to try making some kind of fancy macaroni and cheese recipe. You should come over if you want.”

“Works for me. Got a meeting until six-thirty, but I’ll come by after,” Poe agrees, standing up, and leaning across the desk to drop a kiss on Luke’s lips.

In the evening, Luke and Rey have managed to get the multi-part macaroni and cheese into the oven without absolutely destroying the kitchen by the time Poe arrives, his button-down untucked now, the top button undone. Luke steps out, barefoot, onto his porch, just to slide his arms around Poe’s waist and kiss him. Half the time it still feels like a novelty to be able to do that and then pull away just to see Poe’s smile.

“Hi,” Poe says, his laugh lines making a welcome appearance.

“Come in,” Luke says, pulling open the screen door.

“Hi, Poe,” Rey calls from the kitchen, where she’s monitoring the progress of dinner. “I got into Theed, did you hear?”

“I did,” Poe says, smiling in amusement as he sheds his jacket. “Congratulations. It’s really exciting! You hear back from anywhere else, yet?”

“Nope,” Rey says. “Should start hearing from the rest this week but I’m pretty sure Theed’s it.”

“And I really think you should wait until you have all your offers to make that decision,” Luke reiterates.

“Well, I think you’re making the right choice,” Poe says, following Luke back into the kitchen. “Can I give you a hug?” he asks Rey. “Or would that be weird?”

“It’s fine. You can hug me,” Rey says, like she’s bestowing an honor.

“Thank you,” Poe says, expression caught somewhere between amusement and slight surprise.

Then he reaches out and gives Rey an enthusiastic hug. Rey freezes for a second before hugging back. All Luke can think of is her at seven, dirt on her nose, defiance in her veins. She’d been cagey about accepting hugs for months, until Luke had come back from India for the fall semester, when she’d surprised them both by throwing her arms around Luke and squeezing so tightly it was almost hard to breathe. Then the moment passes, and Rey pats Poe awkwardly on the shoulder as she pulls away, giving him a slight smile.

“Thanks,” Poe says, again, looking pleased.  

“What an incredibly normal and comfortable-looking interaction that was,” Luke comments, trying (not that hard) to hide his amusement. Poe shakes his head in mock outrage and as Rey walks by on the way to get plates from the cupboards, she pinches Luke’s upper arm. “Ow, Jesus,” Luke mutters. “That hurt.”

* * *

> Leia Amidala-Lars, acknowledgements in _Abundance and Liberty For All: The Quest for Social Equality in Post-War America_ (Theed: Theed University Press, 1996), ii.
> 
> “Finally, I would be remiss in not mentioning the support of my family, in all its many forms: Bail and Breha Organa, who patched my scraped knees as a child and opened their doors to me when I needed somewhere to write as an adult; my brother Luke, always my complement, with me in one way or another through every step of this project; my mother Padme, the inspiration for the kind of scholar, parent, and person I aim to be; and my husband, Han, who never fails to infuriate me into my next great breakthrough. This is for you all, and for my son Ben, who I hope will one day want to read this.”

* * *

It’s Thursday, after the last day of classes before spring break, and the weather is finally starting to hint at spring rain, at green and growing things, and he and Poe are working in comfortable, companionable quiet at Luke’s dining room table.

“You know sometimes when I look at all the documents I’ve saved with my last name in the file name, it starts looking really weird,” Poe says, resting his chin on his hand. “Dameron. It’s a funny word.”

Luke blinks. “Are you, by any chance, high right now?”

“Luke Amidala, what a thing to suggest,” Poe says. “I am scandalized.”

“I went to Berkeley. Fewer things shock me than you’d think,” Luke says.

Poe looks at him, accusatory. “I can’t believe this. That’s a perfect opening, and yet you’ve said it when I am too tired to come up with as good a response as that invites,” he says.

Luke asks, “Have you considered, you know, getting some more sleep?”

“I aspire to it,” Poe says.

Luke smiles, helplessly. “You could go take a nap on the couch or something. You look like you could use it.”

Poe sighs. “I definitely want to. But I still have so many midterms to grade. I wanted to get these out of the way so I could use this break to actually take a break.”

“It’s not going to do your students any favors if you do all your grading sleep-deprived and hyper-caffeinated.”

“Pretty much how I handled grading things as a TA,” Poe grins.

“Eventually your own sense of mortality and the need for sleep are going catch up with you,” Luke says. “Also, being a professor means trying to at least pretend you’ve got dignity.”

“Maybe for you. You have that whole turn it off and on, ‘I’ve got the floor now, so you should listen’ thing you do,” Poe says. “I’m going more for ‘lovably eccentric and passionate about the subject so we don’t even care that our grades are already more than a week later than promised.’”

“Good luck with that,” Luke says.

Poe makes a face at him and then lays his head down on his folded arms. “Fuck, I’m not even going to survive to make tenure. I’m just going to die here of exhaustion, at your dining table.”

“You want something to eat?” Luke offers.

“Nah, I’m okay. But you could come over here and kiss me. That would help,” Poe says, propping his chin up on his left hand.

Luke laughs, but uncrosses his legs to stand up and come around the table to where Poe’s sitting, bending a knee to place it on Poe’s chair by his thigh.

“Hey, so you know what would be easier,” Poe says, tugging Luke closer by his belt loops, until Luke’s got no choice but to collapse into Poe’s lap, straddling him.

“This is really not going to help you get your grading done,” Luke says as he drapes his arms over Poe’s shoulders.

“Yeah, but it is making me feel kind of better about my life choices right now,” Poe says, lacing his hands together low on Luke’s back.

“Only kind of, huh?”

“Sorry, but unfortunately you’re not the answer to my professional anxieties. But you should definitely kiss me anyway.”

“Whatever you need,” Luke says, dipping his head to meet Poe’s lips, which part softly under his.  

“Whatever I need, huh?” Poe says when he pulls back.

“Within reason,” Luke amends.

“Oh, there we go, with the conditions,” Poe says, shaking his head, but he’s still smiling. It does nothing to hide his evident exhaustion. He lets his head drop back, sighing.  

“Hey,” Luke says, smoothing Poe’s rebellious hair back, “you’re going to make it, you know. You’ve got a book deal, your students love you, the department needs someone in your speciality. And you’re a remarkable scholar.”

“You should give me compliments more often,” Poe says, smiling softly, his eyes falling closed, tapping his thumb lightly against Luke’s spine.

“I’ll take that suggestion under advisement,” Luke says quietly.

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Tides Falling_ (New York: Endor, 2012), 258.
> 
> That night, Maya dreamed of falling and falling, a shadow around her that morphed into the people she loved, their voices echoing somewhere beyond the horizon.
> 
> And then suddenly she was home, running laughing through the misty orchards of Telania Hill Station. Uncle Dev and Aunt Ilana were waiting on the porch for her.
> 
> But behind her, the shadow voices cried out again, louder now, gone wordless in their pain. It was Anjali and Teo, hoarse from screaming. She knew it in her very blood and she knew it was more than a dream. It was real, or was going to be real if she didn’t wake up and prevent it. Her body, asleep in her cot, was crying and it was imperative she wake up now — this moment.
> 
> “I have to go,” Maya said, out loud, as she sat up in her cot. When she reached up, there were no tear tracks on her face, but her throat was tight. She scrambled out of her cot and rushed into the common area, where Master Ulim was sitting in front of the fire.
> 
> “I have to go,” she said, again. “I have to go find my friends. They’re about to walk into a trap.”
> 
> “That would not be wise,” Master Ulim said, without turning around. “If you leave now, you put the galaxy in danger. You are not prepared to confront Vader. Should the first new initiate of the Jedi Order in over twenty years die on a reckless personal mission, the Emperor’s grip will only become stronger.”
> 
> “I can’t stand around and let my friends die, not when I could prevent it!”
> 
> “And who are you, to decide whose lives matter most?”

* * *

On the Wednesday evening of spring break, as they’re sitting down for dinner, Luke decides it’s time to broach a potentially delicate topic with Rey.

“So I’ve got a meeting with the family lawyer next week,” Luke says.

“Uh-huh,” Rey says, heaping rice onto her plate.

“I’m thinking about updating my will.”

Rey looks up slowly and quizzically. “Okay?”

“I’d like to make you my beneficiary,” Luke say, laying out the truth, clear, in the hope that this will make it easier for Rey to hear. “I’ve been thinking that in case anything ever happens, I’d like to know you’d have something to fall back on.”

“But you’re not going to die,” Rey says, eyebrows knit together, staring at her plate, her hands clenched into fists. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Hey, no,” Luke says, reaching his hand out across the table automatically. Rey flinches away. “I’m right here, I’m just fine.”

Rey doesn’t say anything, so Luke gets up, dragging his chair over next to Rey’s. Even after all these years, Luke can remember being a terrified four-year-old who was convinced every time his mother walked out the door that he’d never see her again.

“Look, I know there are things I can’t promise — we both know that,” Luke says, softly. “But as long I’ve got any say whatsoever, I’m going to be here. Maybe I’m not always going to be in the same time zone or the same country, but I’m always going to come back.”

In response, Rey lets her head drop onto Luke’s shoulder. “Okay,” she mumbles. “Me, too.”

“I know. Thank you,” Luke says, putting his arm around Rey’s shoulders and squeezing just slightly. After a second, he asks, “So would it be okay with you, if I made you my beneficiary?”

“It’s okay with me,” Rey says, nodding a little.

“I appreciate that,” Luke replies.

“If . . . if anything did happen, I’d make sure your library here was okay,” Rey says, quiet and unsteady. “I’d donate the books I couldn’t keep or something.”

“That’s good to hear,” Luke says, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

They both sit there for another moment or two, Rey’s breathing evening back out again. Then she lifts her head, shifting back, and asks, “You think I could convince Han to leave me the Falcon?”

Luke can’t help but laugh, even as he shakes his head. “Well,” he says, “Ben definitely doesn’t want it. I think you could probably make a pretty strong case for yourself.”

* * *

> Anakin Lars, Cape Canaveral, FL, personal letter to Leia and Luke Amidala-Lars, Washington, D.C., August 5, 1970.
> 
> “I hope neither of you mind but even though I wrote this in advance, I asked your mom to hold onto this letter until your actual birthday, so she can read it to you both then!
> 
> So, today you are three years old. So grown up already! Soon you’ll practically be woolly mammoths. I wish I were there with you all to celebrate, but I promise that next year when I bring back space rocks as gifts, it’ll make it all worthwhile.
> 
> I hope you both eat a lot of cake, get a lot of hugs, and behave for your mom but make lots of trouble for your Uncle Obi-Wan for me.”

* * *

It’s late evening on a Friday in mid-April and Luke is on his couch, re-reading _The Namesake_ , with Poe on the other side, answering an email from his friend Snap, their legs tangled, overlapping in the middle. When Luke’s phone starts ringing, Poe absentmindedly grabs it off the coffee table and passes it to Luke.

“Hi, Mom,” Luke says, picking up. She’s in D.C. for a summit on women in politics and isn’t due back for another few days.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Mom says, but the cheer is clearly forced.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asks, immediately, sitting up. Poe looks up from his laptop, frowning.

“The groundskeeper at Varykino,” Mom says, sounding sad and very old. “He just called. The house — the house was broken into. Everything’s fine — the police are going to take a look, but Hector doesn’t think anything was stolen. Just some broken windows.”

“Okay,” Luke says quietly. There’s not much left at Varykino worth stealing, but it’s still where his mother grew up, laughing in the tall grass, the background of her wedding photos.

“I don’t know why this is even upsetting me so much,” Mom says. “We’re never there anyway.”

“I can go up tomorrow to check on the house,” Luke offers. “I didn’t have any plans.”

His grandparents had passed away within a year of each other, when Luke was eleven. For long years, before Luke had his childhood knocked out of him on a summer night road, Luke’s worst memory was hearing his mother crying through the thin walls of their New York apartment and being paralyzed with overwhelming fear. After that, they never went to Varykino much, although his mother and Aunt Sola had never sold the house, always muttering about how one day, Luke and Leia and their cousins might want to stay there.

“And if you go, what are you even going to be able to do?” Mom asks.

“I’ll be able to see it,” Luke says. “And it would make you feel better.”

Mom sighs. “Thank you. But I know how you hate going up there.”

“I don’t hate it, Mom,” Luke says, which is mostly true.

“Everything okay?” Poe asks, quietly, putting his laptop on the coffee table and shifting closer.

“Mostly,” Luke says, holding the phone away from his mouth. “There was break-in at my grandparents’ old house. I might go up tomorrow to make sure everything’s fine.”

“Is that Rey with you?” Mom asks.

“No, she’s out with Finn and some of her friends. Poe’s here,” Luke says, suddenly aware that of all the things he could be doing on a warm Friday evening, Poe has chosen to hang out on Luke’s couch, doing nothing much at all.

“Ah,” Mom says, sounding amused. “Well, tell him hello from me.”

“My mother says hi,” Luke reports dutifully.

“Oh,” Poe says, sounding faintly surprised, even though they’ve had dinner with Luke’s mom before and she always makes sure to ask how Poe’s parents are when she sees him now. “Tell her I say hi, too.”

“He says hi back,” Luke says, smiling now in amusement.

“Yes, I could hear that,” Mom says. “You know, I think he’s still a bit afraid of me.”

“I think it’s more that he’s in awe of you,” Luke replies. Poe gently kicks Luke’s ankle, mouthing, ‘Shut up.’ Luke shifts his leg out of range.

“Imagine if he’d known your grandfather,” Mom says.

Luke laughs, at the strange dissonance of imagining his grandfather, the former governor, the staunch party stalwart with his impeccable suits and grave face, who loomed so large to Luke as a child, in the same room as Poe.

“Probably would’ve charmed him, too, eventually,” Luke says, feeling a rush of warm affection.

“That would have been interesting to see. If Leia didn’t have that keynote address in Boston this weekend, you could just go together,” Mom says, like they’re still kids she’d send off everywhere as a pair. “There’s Han.”

“If I’m uncomfortable going to Varykino, Han is—”

“Something else entirely,” Mom fills in. “True. All right, if you’re sure. It would make me feel better, just to know everything’s okay.”

“Of course,” Luke replies.

Mom sighs. “I should go. I got the call during the evening reception and I’m being terribly rude right now.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees. “I’ll call you tomorrow, when I get back from the house. Let you know how things looked.”

“That sounds fine. Good night, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yeah, talk to you soon. Night, Mom,” Luke says and then hangs up.

“So what’s going on, exactly?” Poe asks.

“I’m going to go check on my grandparents’ house up north, tomorrow,” Luke says, dropping his phone on the table, sighing. His offer to go was sincere, but so too is the prickling discomfort rising up the back of his neck.  

“You’re just going by yourself?” Poe asks.

“The groundskeeper said it was just the windows that got broken. And the police are going to take a look, I guess. Not really anything Han could do, even if he came up with me,” Luke says, absently, thinking that he’ll have to remember to get gas tomorrow before setting out.

“No, I meant — I could come with you. Didn’t have anything else on my plate,” Poe says, shrugging.

Luke turns the offer over in his mind, wondering if Poe realizes the weight of it.

“You really don’t look very happy about this whole thing,” Poe says, wrapping a hand around Luke’s ankle and brushing his thumb across it, “and I don’t have a problem coming with you, if it would help.”

“Okay,” Luke says, leaning in to kiss Poe’s cheek. “Thank you.”

The next morning, after picking up the keys to Varykino from his mother’s house — it takes a while because Luke is terrible at locating small things like that — he drives over to Poe’s. It occurs to Luke on the way over that he’s never brought anyone to Varykino with him, not the way Leia had brought Han — a half-defiant laying bare of a secret, a hidden scar. As much as its shadow has been Luke’s shadow, Varykino has never felt like his story to share.

Poe kisses him hello and on the drive up, the farms and the stretches of overgrown fields dissolving behind them, he recounts stories from the road trip he and his friend Ello had taken at the end of their second summer in grad school, driving from Miami to Princeton.

“I had this idea that it was going to be like  _The Motorcycle Diaries_ , but by the end of it, all I could think about was that we as a country grow an absurd amount of corn,” Poe concludes.

“So much for going to look for America,” Luke says, glancing at Poe and smiling.

“I know, right?” Poe laughs.

And then finally they’re exiting off the highway and passing through the small streets of the town Luke’s mother grew up in, all manicured lawns and the deliberately understated luxury of the long-rich permeating the air. Luke takes a left and heads uphill, as the stone walls of Varykino emerge from behind the trees.

“My parents had their wedding reception here — in the back garden, you can sort of see it now,” Luke says, as they pull up the long driveway.

“It’s beautiful,” Poe says.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, slowly, as he puts the car in park. It’s true, even when it’s hard for Luke to see. “It’s definitely something to see.” They both sit there in silence for a few long moments.

“C’mon,” Poe finally says, pushing open his door, “let’s go do this and then we can go home.”

They wander through the parlor and the dining room, the covered furniture and the echoing quiet sending unpleasant shivers down Luke’s spine. Poe reaches out and threads their fingers together, looking up at the high ceilings.

“When was the last time you were here?” Poe asks, hushed, as if out of respect for the memories still tucked into corners of each room.

“Three, four years ago?” Luke says. “Right before Ben moved out to California, we all came up here for a couple days. But before then, I hadn’t been in ages. Everything always looks the same.”

“Well, in this case, that’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, slowly. It’s uncanny — there’s a draft and the rooms echo weirdly, but the house really does look the same as the last time he was here. “I never actually liked it here that much, even before my grandparents died,” Luke confesses.

Poe raises his eyebrows a little.

“It’s beautiful,” Luke admits, with a shrug. “There are waterfalls back in the reserve and there’s the lake further down. But this house always felt so _important_ , you know? We used to get these reporters or historians coming up to interview my grandparents, when I was a kid. I liked it better when we went to New Mexico.”

“The ranch,” Poe fills in.

“Yeah. The sky’s unbelievable out there,” Luke says. Abruptly, he misses it all — the animals and the sunsets and the red-brown dirt. But most of all, he misses the bedrock of his aunt and uncle, the constant and durable love they’d shared, that had weathered good years and bad and held everything together.

“Hey,” Poe says, squeezing Luke’s hand, pulling him back to the present. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, squeezing back briefly. “Come on, let’s find these broken windows.”

They head down the hallway and end up in Grandfather’s study, where there’s a line of windows that have been boarded over. It’s dark and slightly chilly, the same and yet somehow entirely different from the room Luke remembers as grand and open, beautiful in the early morning with pale red-gold sunlight filtering in the tall windows. For a long aching moment, Luke is overwhelmed by memories of sitting in here as a child, as quiet and still as he could be, a challenge to himself that he was perpetually losing, while his grandfather read the newspaper. Finally he says, “Well, this place has definitely looked better.”

Poe glances over at him, smiling a little, and says, “I can imagine.”

As if she knows even before Luke does that he needs to hear her voice — she might, actually, because there’s no one who knows Luke like his sister, the person he came into the world with — that’s when Leia calls.

“Hey,” Luke answers.

“Hi,” Leia says. “How’s the house?”

“Well, it’s the windows in Grandfather’s study that got smashed.”

“Oh, like the one—”

“That we broke that one time?” Luke fills in. “Yeah, that one, the whole line of them on that side.”

“What we were even doing?” Leia wonders.

“Practicing your pitching for softball, I think,” Luke says, trying to remember.

Leia huffs. “One of our more brilliant moments, clearly.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees.

“So everything’s fine?” Leia asks.

“Basically.”

“Good,” Leia says, definite. “So just go home now.”

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs. “I think that’s what I’m going to do.”

But it seems unfair to show Poe only the emptiness of Varykino, when it was more than that once. So Luke asks, “Want to see the gardens? They don’t look like they used to — it’s not really worth the upkeep, with no one living here, but it’s still nice back there.”

Poe nods and kisses him firmly. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

It’s warm and the sky above them is an impossibly clear blue. Even run-down like this, the back garden is stunning, arrangements of flowers blooming in spring sun.  

“There used to be a cherry blossom tree over there, before some storm knocked it down,” Luke says, pointing towards the edge of garden. “My parents got married in April, so it was in full bloom. You can see it in a lot of the pictures.”

“I’m sure it was beautiful,” Poe murmurs.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “President Mothma was there. There’s this photo of her and Breha Organa trying to play croquet with no shoes on.”

“That I gotta see,” Poe says, leaning into Luke and smiling. “The future president of the United States playing croquet barefoot. Your family is sitting on so much golden archival material.”

Luke smiles back, wraps his arms around Poe for a proper hug. “I’ll ask my mom about it,” he agrees.

“You good?” Poe asks.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “Let’s go.”

They stop at some small town restaurant off the highway for lunch and after, in the parking lot, Poe kisses him, tasting faintly of cherry pie.

When they get back to Theed, it’s later than Luke had intended, well into the afternoon, and it’s started to rain.

“There you are,” Rey says, sounding peeved, which means she was concerned. “You know the forecast said thunderstorms in the afternoon. You said you would be back before then.”

“If I suddenly die,” Luke informs Rey, “I want you to just sell the house. Or live in it, or rent it out if you can’t figure out what to do with it. Don’t let it sit around.”

“Luke,” Rey says, kindly, “obviously I’d sell the house. It’s worth kind of a lot of money now. I’d use it to keep down my student debt.”

Luke laughs and Poe shakes his head, smiling.

“You’re both kind of terrible,” Poe says.

“If the Chancellor could hear you now,” Rey replies, sing-song.

“Don’t bully him,” Luke says.

“Fine,” Rey sighs dramatically. “I’ll be nice. Is it okay if Finn comes over for dinner?”

“Yeah, of course,” Luke says.

Once they’ve shed their jackets and collapsed on the couch, he calls his mother to let her know things are okay at Varykino, feeling her soft, sad sigh somewhere below his sternum.

“Thank you for going, sweetheart,” she says, quietly.

“Of course, Mom,” he murmurs.

When he hangs up, he sags against Poe, leaning into it when Poe wraps an arm around his shoulders and pecking him once, briefly, on the cheek.

“Want to help me cook?” he asks quietly.

“Mmhmm,” Poe agrees.

The sight of Rey in the dining room, working on her English paper, and of Poe here in the kitchen with Luke, grimacing slightly as he chops an onion, makes the lingering hollowness in Luke’s chest settle, fade into something faint and quiet and manageable.

Finn gets to the house a little later than expected and is very apologetic about it. “Sorry,” he says from the foyer. “Professor Phasma wanted to talk to me after class about working in her lab over the summer. She’s very— uh,” he pauses, “intense.”

“She’s trying to steal Finn and make him into a geneticist,” Poe says, his voice pitched to carry.

“Oh, I mean, I don’t know,” Finn says, coming into view as he reaches the dining room. “I think it’s more like I’m just the student who disappoints her the least.” He shrugs but he’s still smiling at the thought.

“She thinks you’re smart because you are,” Rey insists, tugging Finn over to the dining room table by the hand.

Finn beams at her and Poe catches Luke’s eye, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and miming a swoon — out of Rey’s sightline, thankfully. Luke bites down on his laugh and shakes his head.

“Finn, we’re having egg curry. That okay with you?” Luke asks.

Finn nods. “Sounds great,” he says.

Over dinner, Rey tells them about how Mrs. Delancy’s cat ended up in the backyard again, wrinkling her nose. “It’s so old. You’d think it would be too arthritic to run away so much.”

Finn starts coughing from snorting in the middle of a sip of water. Rey pats him on the back.

“Okay there, buddy?” Poe laughs. Finn nods, still coughing but half-grinning

“Rey, that’s kind of mean,” Luke says, trying not to laugh himself.

“That _cat_ is mean,” Rey grouses. “And I like cats. I like Poe’s cat.”

“Aww, thanks,” Poe says.

“Oh, show Finn the pictures of Beebee all wrapped up in that blanket — she’s so cute,” Rey says, holding out her hand for Poe’s phone. Rey and Poe have taken to texting each other photos of Poe’s cat, inaccuracies in Rey’s AP European History textbook, and the campus squirrels. It’s the last one Luke doesn’t really understand.

“Oh, yeah, hold on,” Poe says, pulling his phone and fiddling with it. “Here we go,” he says, handing it over to Rey.

“Look,” Rey says, leaning into Finn. “Isn’t she adorable?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Finn says, smiling. “She’s pretty cute. We’re gonna have a good time when I cat-sit over the summer.”

After they’re done eating and the dishes are cleared away, they all move into the living room.  Rey insists they watch _Pandora’s Ark_.

“Finn had only seen the first season,” Rey says, shaking her head. “I’m trying to get him caught up.”

“What episode are you guys on?” Poe asks. “The second season’s so good.”

“We got _halfway_ through the two-part season finale!” Rey says.

“You stopped there?” Poe asks, in disbelief.

“I had a lab report due,” Finn protests. “You’ve met Professor Phasma, right? Really tall, really demanding?”

“It is a huge cliffhanger to end on,” Luke says. “We should definitely at least watch the second half.”

“I am really worried about Dahlia — I mean, the Dahlia on Treika with Aruna,” Finn confesses. “Although I guess I’m also worried about the Dahlia on the Ark, too. What if they actually execute her?”

“Sit down so we can watch and you can find out!” Rey says, pushing him over to the love seat. Once she’s pulled up the episode, she sits down by him, tossing her legs over his lap. Poe grins at Luke and tucks his feet under Luke’s thigh on the couch.  

When the episode’s over, Finn glances over at the clock and says, “I guess I should probably get going.”

Rey frowns out at the window. “But it’s raining so hard. You should just stay here tonight.”

Finn’s eyes go a little wide. “Oh. Uh.”

“That’s okay, right?” Rey asks, turning to Luke now.

“Yeah, of course, if it’s okay with Finn,” Luke agrees.

“I don’t want you hydroplaning or anything,” Rey mutters and Finn looks over at her and nods immediately.

“I can stay,” he says. “I’d like to stay.”

“Okay,” Rey says, quiet, but giving a decisive nod.

They troop upstairs then, to find Finn a toothbrush and something to sleep in.

“I see how there was no similar concern about my welfare from you,” Poe says, shaking his head. “The romance is already dead.”

And Luke could make a joke, too, but he won’t, can’t right now. Poe’s only stayed the night a handful of times — it’s Rey’s home, too, and she should have a say in who gets to stay and when — but tonight Luke wants the comfort of Poe, warm and close in his bed, so he just shifts closer, resting his forehead against Poe’s shoulder for a second. Then he looks up and asks, “Would you— stay, tonight?”

“Hey,” Poe murmurs, elbowing Luke gently, “yeah, of course.”

“Thank you,” Luke says, kissing Poe once, softly, because he can now.

They navigate around one another, getting ready for bed, and there’s a comfort in that, too.

“I love these sheets,” Poe says, sprawling out on the bed. “I really need to get some nicer sheets of my own. Remind me to do that.”

“I’ll leave a post-it note on your laptop,” Luke says, smiling a little in amusement and climbing in next to Poe, who shifts onto his side.  

“Excellent. You can come pick some out with me,” Poe says. Then he props himself on an elbow, more serious now, thoughtful. “I can understand why you liked your aunt and uncle’s place better. Varykino feels sort of—”

“Haunted?” Luke murmurs. The rain is still pounding down outside and everything feels far-off, somehow.

“I was going to say mournful, maybe?” Poe says.

“I think you’d like the ranch,” Luke says, tracing his knuckles up along Poe’s side.

Poe dips his head to brush a barely-there whisper of a kiss over Luke’s collarbone. “I’m sure I would,” he says.

“Then I’ll take you, one day.’’ It’s a nice image to hold in his mind, Poe smiling in the New Mexico sun, happy in a place that holds many of Luke’s brightest memories, that built his faith in the interconnection between humanity and the planet.

“Good. And I’ll take you driving along the Space Coast in Florida,” Poe says, like he has no doubt that this is for the long run, that he’ll still want this months from now, years. “Bring you to Tikal with me.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees, softly, hoping.

In the morning, Poe stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes, nearly knocking his glasses off his face. Caught in the sunshine streaming in the windows, wearing pilfered pajama pants and an undershirt, hair in sleepy disarray, he is beautiful.

And Luke loves him.

“Morning,” Poe mumbles, dropping a kiss on Luke’s shoulder on his way to the coffee maker, easy, without thinking.

Watching the line of his back, Luke says, “I love you,” because he wants to hear it for himself, too, said aloud.  

Poe turns around, his half-open mouth growing into a wide, glowing smile. He puts down his mug in favor of walking over to Luke, crowding him up against the counter. “I love you, too,” Poe says, still beaming as he leans in to kiss Luke, nipping at his bottom lip and stealing his breath. Luke wraps his arms around Poe’s waist, to keep him in place. “I love you,” Poe repeats, almost crooning the words against the edge of Luke’s mouth.

Luke laughs against Poe’s lips, exhilaration flooding through his bloodstream, a sense of flight. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, slipping his hand up under Poe’s shirt to feel the plane of his back, and leaving soft, whispering kisses along the angles of Poe’s cheekbones.

“Luke,” Poe says, a little breathy, and brings a hand up to rest on Luke’s neck as he kisses him again, thorough and ardent, pressing in closer. The counter’s digging into Luke’s back now but the discomfort seems distant and inconsequential when Poe’s fingers are curled delicately against the nape of his neck.

“Oh, my God!” Rey says, coming in and immediately turning around, tugging an incredibly uncomfortable-looking Finn out into the dining room with her. “Control yourselves!”

“I am so sorry!” Finn calls.

Luke just shakes his head, eyes closed, faintly amazed that he can still be made to feel so totally undignified. As the sound of footsteps clattering back up the stairs filters into the kitchen, Poe bursts out laughing, leaning his forehead against Luke’s.

“That is unbelievably unhelpful,” Luke informs him, although when Poe tilts his head to kiss him, he can’t help smiling into it and kissing back, fervent and warm. Finally he pulls back and says, “Hold onto that thought for later, okay?”

“I can do that,” Poe agrees, but doesn’t step back.

“Poe,” Luke laughs. “We’re going to traumatize Rey if she ever comes back down. Also, you know, your advisee?”

“Give me a minute,” Poe says biting his lower lip and then grinning. “I’m basking.”

When Rey and Finn return, Rey eyes them both a little suspiciously but accepts a plate of scrambled eggs without comment.

Luke’s house here in Theed looks nothing like the ranch. But sitting there, with Rey and Finn drinking coffee and munching on toast, and Poe reading the Arts section of the newspaper, his ankle resting against Luke’s under the table, Luke thinks that maybe he’s managed to bring some of that warmth he always found at his aunt and uncle’s and transplant it here.

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Who Walk in Light_ (New York: Endor, forthcoming), 268.
> 
> “Good luck, gods bless, and may the Force be with you,” First Minister Eloa said, clasping his four hands together and bowing his head. “In each of you, the promise of the Republic remains alive. We’ll see you all on the other side of this.”
> 
> When they got out to the busy hangar bay, just before the stolen Imperial ship Maya would be taking, Anjali, already in her flight suit, paused. “This is where we part ways, then, Maya,” she said, expression serious and determined. Then she added, eyes twinkling, “Hey, if anything happens, remember, you have to push down for the torpedos to launch, okay?”
> 
> “I remember,” Maya promised, smiling wryly. “Anjali,” she added, trying to put the weight of her meaning into words, “thank you.”
> 
> Anjali looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “You, too.”
> 
> Then Teo pulled Maya into a fierce hug and Maya swallowed against the sudden urge to cry. Teo was the closest thing she had to family anymore. “Talk to Kira. Tell her how you feel,” Teo urged, into Maya’s ear, “while you still have the chance. She deserves to know.”
> 
> Maya tightened her arms around him, unsure how to respond. How like Teo to worry about this, about Maya, right now, before what might be the decisive battle of the war.
> 
> “Don’t do anything too stupid,” Teo continued. “I promised your aunt you’d get through this, so don’t make me a liar, okay? We’re both coming home.” Maya nodded, unable to say anything. Then Teo pulled away, out of their tight hug, and gave Maya a jaunty salute. “Knock ‘em off their feet, wizard girl. We’ll be right on your flank when you get out.”
> 
> “Just like always,” Maya agreed, swallowing against the rising fear that this was the last time she’d ever see him or Anjali or Kira.
> 
> “Just like always,” Teo echoed, smiling. “Okay, I’m going to go help get the _Vision_ ready for launch. Commander,” he said, turning to Anjali with a slight bow, “if you’ll let me accompany you to your ship?”
> 
> “I would appreciate that, Lieutenant,” Anjali said, giving one of those soft smiles so few knew she was capable of producing.

* * *

It’s May, the weekend before finals start, and Luke and Poe are sitting in the dining room, sorting through a hundred-odd tasks that need to be completed before the semester’s end. Luke’s trying to compile a list of topics he wants to discuss with the monks and nuns he knows — things that have emerged out of his fieldnotes and transcripts that he’s been puzzling over. The thought of having to produce another book, even one that has years of research and interviews and thought to build on, is prematurely draining.

“Let’s take a walk,” Poe says suddenly, getting up. “Let’s go see your tree!”

Luke looks at all the work spread out in front of him, helplessly.

“No, come on, it’ll be good for us both. I can’t stare at this chapter any longer and you’ve been looking at your laptop like you’re just pretending not to hate it for hours. Let’s go,” Poe insists.

Outside, the day is golden-bright and Poe’s holding out his hand, so Luke gets up and says, “Okay, sure.”

When they get out onto the porch, Luke tips his head back, eyes closed, to soak in the warmth of the bright sunshine, to let it seep into his bones.

“It’s like you’re solar-powered,” Poe says and kisses his temple.

“Yeah, well, that’s all you really need, right? Sun, water, nutrients.”

Poe laughs. “Yeah? What about books? What about art?”

“Okay, so maybe not everything,” Luke says, smiling. “But it’s a good start.”

“Uh-huh,” Poe agrees, tangling their fingers together and leading them down the walk.

When they get to the Arboretum, Luke settles against the trunk of his tree, cross-legged, and Poe lies down so that his head is resting on Luke’s thigh. “See?” he says, looking up at Luke. “This is way better than finishing my chapter.”

“I’m going to remember you said that and I’m going to remind you about it the next time you complain about me writing too slowly,” Luke says. Poe makes a face that Luke can’t help but laugh at.

After a few long moments of quiet — just bird calls, the faint sound of people over on the quad — Poe sighs softly and frowns. His expression is out of place, with the sunshine filtering through the leaves and dancing across the contours of his cheekbones.

“What?” Luke asks, carding his fingers through Poe’s hair.

“Just thinking that it’s going to be a long summer, with us both out of Theed,” Poe answers, tipping his head back into the touch.

“I know,” Luke says, with a sinking feeling in his gut. “But summer’s really the only time I can get fieldwork done, if I’m not on sabbatical. And you need to get back down to Tikal, so you can work on your manuscript. And it’s not — it’s not just work.”

“Hey, listen to me,” Poe says, sitting up and turning to face Luke. “I know that. I just meant I’ll be glad to see you, when we’re both back.” Poe leans in and presses his lips hard against Luke’s, like he’s making a point.

And it’s not that Luke can’t comprehend the conviction behind that, but — “I know it’s asking a lot,” he says, “to want you to be here — to want you still to feel the same way when I get back.”

“Not when I want that from you, too,” Poe insists, fierce. “Yeah, I don’t love that I’m going to be spending two straight months not able to touch you or turn around and talk to you whenever I’ve read something I want to share,” he says, frowning, reaching out for Luke’s hand, brushing his thumb over Luke’s fingers, “but when I say get it, I mean that. Your work — that isn’t something I love you _despite_. That would be such bullshit. Especially when I genuinely enjoy spending my free time sequestered in archives, reading dead people’s diaries.”

Luke smiles a little, glancing down.

Poe tips his head to regard Luke, eyes softer now, fond. “Look, I get needing to leave. It’s what I do, too. I’m just saying, I’ll be here when you get back, and I’m going to be really, really happy to see you.”

“I’m going to be really happy to see you, too,” Luke says, because it’s true and he means it, sincerely, entirely.

Poe leans in, so much he almost overbalances. Luke puts his hand at Poe’s waist to steady him and Poe kisses him again at that, gentle and sweet and warm, so Luke can only melt into it. “I know. I love you, too. Now stop worrying,” Poe says, when he finally pulls away. “Because this — you, me, your tree, the sunshine? We’re making a good memory here.” Then he settles back down to rest his head on Luke’s thigh again. He shifts around a bit, tugs Luke’s right arm over so it’s draped across his chest, and then lets his eyes fall shut like he could fall asleep here, shaded by Luke’s tree.

“Comfortable?” Luke asks, his whole chest suffused with affection despite everything else.

“Mmhmm,” Poe says, smiling faintly. After a few moments, he asks, “Hey, you think Maya’s ever going to be able to go home to her orchard?”

Luke considers the question, as he looks off across the Arboretum. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve been thinking that might be the end of the series — Maya finally going home. But maybe that would be too predictable?”

“I’d like it,” Poe says, cracking one eye open.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Luke says, smiling down at him. “Anyway, that’s a question for another day. Maya’s got a lot to get done first.”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees, “galaxy’s not going to save itself.”  

“Or it could, but then there’d be no plot.”

Poe laughs. “Shortest book in the series. Maya wakes up, the Empire’s gone, everything is fine. The end.”

“I’d probably actually be able to meet my editor’s deadlines with that.”

“And yet she would still be pissed,” Poe says, grinning up at Luke.

“I just can’t win,” Luke says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, you lead such a hard life,” Poe says, still smiling. “So, what, after the war, Maya and Kira retire to Telania Hill Station?”

“Yeah,” Luke laughs. “They’re going to become prematurely crotchety fruit farmers.”

* * *

> Obi-Wan Kenobi, Theed, CT, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Berkeley, CA, March 21, 1986.
> 
> “Though the conference certainly had its interesting points, mostly during the contentious question and answer sessions — my fellow scholars really have quite the talent for backhanded compliments — I must say the highlight of the trip was seeing how well you’ve settled into your new environment. I know last year was difficult for you, reassessing your future. It is clear to me that you have landed on your feet, though. Hearing you talk so glowingly of your religion and anthropology courses brings me back to my own days at Oxford. Those are fond memories and I can tell you will have equally fond recollections of your time out there in California.
> 
> If you will continue to indulge an old friend by keeping him up to date, that would be much appreciated indeed.”

* * *

“This robe is awful,” Rey says, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Nah,” Poe says. “Ph.D. robes are definitely sillier looking.”

Rey snorts, but then immediately goes back to eyeing the fabric of her dark blue graduation robe critically.

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Everyone’s wearing the same thing anyway. Part of the experience.”

“What if I lose my place in my speech?” Rey asks, suddenly.

“You just take a minute, gather yourself and keep going. No one’s going to care,” Luke assures her. “It’ll look like you’re just pausing.”

“I make eye contact, I pause for emphasis,” Rey mutters to herself.

“And for laughter,” Poe says.

Rey nods, a little pale. “They are gonna laugh, right?”

“Hell yeah, they’re gonna laugh,” Poe says, with easy confidence.

Rey nods and repeats to herself, very, very seriously, “They _are_ going to laugh.”

Luke is faintly worried for the safety of anyone who doesn’t now, but mostly he wants to make sure Rey actually gets to her own graduation when she’s supposed to. “You good?” he asks quietly.

Rey turns to him and nods. “I’m good,” she agrees.

And she is. On the raised platform, the spring sunshine golden as if the weather itself wanted to give her a gift, Rey is as incandescent and earnest and bitingly clever as she ever is, and the crowd loves her.

“They’re laughing,” Poe breathes out quietly.

“Course they are,” Han mutters. “You expected something else?”

“No,” Poe says simply and Luke reaches out to tangle their fingers together.

When the speeches are done, the caps thrown, they all wait for Rey to filter out of the crush of new graduates — Mom saying hello to the other faculty and staff who have children here, Leia, Poe and Dak talking about the curriculum review board as Anand and Malini get swept into a throng of exhilarated teenagers and Chewie and Finn keep an eye out for Rey.

Aditi threads her arm through Luke’s. “It’s very strange,” she says, looking out toward all the students in their gowns. “It will be Anand’s turn next year.”

“Yeah, well, one thing you can’t do is stop kids from growing up,” Han says. “But Anand’ll be fine. So will Rey. That kid’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees.

Finn’s the first one to spot Rey and the moment she’s close enough, she pulls him into a tight hug. He’s leaving in two days to spend some time with his family before starting work in the lab so unsurprisingly Rey and he have been attached at the hip.

At dinner, there’s laughter and tons of pictures taken and gifts —

(“Did he just give her a cactus?” Dak asks, quiet and quizzical, when Rey opens the oddly shaped package from Finn and bursts into a beaming smile.

“Yup,” Luke agrees. When Dak looks at him, Luke just shrugs. “I don’t know. She does like potted plants.”

“It’s nice,” Aditi says. “Cacti are — very difficult to kill.”

“Yeah? Should I be giving you cacti?” Dak asks.

“Get me a sabbatical,” Aditi laughs.

“Honey, if I could do that, you would’ve had one a while ago,” Dak says with a smile.)

— and when Luke catches his mom’s eye across the room, she smiles softly, indulgent.

When everyone but Finn is gone — he and Rey are heading to the beach to meet up with some of Rey’s friends — Rey very carefully carries the cactus up to her room, cradled in her arms. When she comes back down, she’s almost skipping.

“Okay, I’ll be back later,” she says, giving Luke a quick, one-armed hug. “I’ll let myself in. You don’t have to wait up or anything.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees. “Hey,” he says, hand on her shoulder. “You did it.”

Rey looks down for a split second and then up again, and nods, beaming. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I did.” Then she hugs Luke again, fierce and warm. “Okay,” she says stepping back and grabbing Finn’s hand, tugging him towards the door, “let’s go!”

“Thank you for having me!” Finn calls back to Luke and Poe as Rey pulls him out onto the porch and down the steps. “Dinner was great!”

“Bye, Finn,” Luke says, amused.

“See you, buddy,” Poe adds, giving a wave.

After they’ve loaded the dishwasher, tossed the torn wrapping paper in the recycling, and put the sunflowers Mom brought Rey in a vase, Luke and Poe end up in bed, reading. Luke’s in the middle of a new article by one of Dak’s earliest advisees — Luke had been on her committee and can recall distinctly the way she’d lean forward and narrow her eyes when she was about to say something cutting in class. Poe’s hair is still wet from showering and he’s got his glasses on as he cracks open a book he just got — something about indigenous land rights in Peru; Luke couldn’t really follow Poe’s absentminded summary.

Eventually Poe sighs, drops his book on the nightstand on his side of the bed, slips off his glasses and slumps against Luke’s side. Luke looks over at him.

“I’m happy Rey wanted me there, today,” Poe mumbles, almost sounding like a confession, against Luke’s shoulder.

“She thinks you’re really cool,” Luke says.

“Yeah?” Poe asks, looking up at Luke now, eyes warm and bright.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s obviously the wrong conclusion to draw—” Luke laughs when Poe steals his journal and smacks him gently with it.

“Way to totally ruin the moment,” Poe says.

“Sorry,” Luke smiles.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Poe says, reaching over to stack Luke’s journal on top of his book on the nightstand and then sliding down into bed properly, lying on his side.

“Tired?” Luke asks, taking off his own glasses and then shifting down from his sitting position so they’re face-to-face.

Poe hums a little, now frowning minutely.

“What is it?” Luke asks, tracing a finger over Poe’s slightly furrowed eyebrows, so his face clears out into a smile.

“I guess I was thinking John Adams was kind of a shitty president—”

“That’s definitely not what I was expecting,” Luke laughs a little.

“Hey, shh, I have a point to this,” Poe protests, rubbing his foot against Luke’s calf under the covers. “So, Adams — not the best president, right? But he and his wife used to write these amazing letters to each other, because they spent so much time apart during their marriage. They used to call each other ‘my dearest friend.’ I always thought that was really sweet.”3

“Is this your way of asking me if I’m going to write you love letters?” Luke says.

Poe laughs quietly. “I’m just saying if they spent literally years apart, I think we can probably manage eight weeks. But _are_ you gonna write me love letters?” he asks, tracing warm fingers up Luke’s arm.

Luke takes in the sight of him, lying right here in Luke’s bed, close and sleepy-eyed, and tries to commit it to memory. “I think maybe any letter I’d write you would be a love letter by nature,” he murmurs.

Poe flops onto his back, grinning up at the ceiling. After a second he says, “Come here?”

So Luke shifts until he’s curled into Poe’s side and settles there. “I’m going to miss you,” Luke murmurs.

“Me, too,” Poe replies. “But I’m going to write you _great_ love letters. You just wait.”

“Okay,” Luke says. “Well, I am a big believer in reciprocity, so I guess I’ll have to come up with something good, huh?” He reaches out to card his fingers gently through Poe’s still-damp curls.

“Guess so,” Poe agrees and he makes a soft, muffled noise of approval when Luke leans over to kiss him.

And then five days later, it’s time to leave. They have to head into New York when it’s so early the sun hasn’t yet risen. When Luke goes to wake Rey, she’s sitting up in bed, looking at her cactus.

“I think it’ll be just fine until Finn’s back in town and can come pick it up,” Luke says quietly.

“I know,” Rey agrees. “I made Poe promise not overwater it or anything until then.”

Rey is quiet in the backseat the whole way into New York, but she accepts Poe’s hug easily when they reach the terminal. Poe rocks them back and forth for a second. “I’m gonna miss you. No one else properly appreciates my cat portraiture.”

Rey actually laughs and Luke is grateful. “Well, you’ll just have to save all the pictures you take so I can look at them when we get back,” she tells Poe, stepping back.

“Deal,” Poe agrees. “Try to keep this one from dying, huh?” he says, nodding over at Luke.

“That’s way harder,” Rey protests, with a grin.

“I am standing right here,” Luke points out.

Rey laughs and tugs her suitcase onto the sidewalk. “I’ll let you guys say bye,” she says, going to stand by the closest set of sliding glass doors.

And Poe’s smile grows a little ragged at that, so Luke steps into his space, folds him into a hug.

“I love you,” Poe mumbles into his ear.

“I love you, too,” Luke says, knowing they need to go, but unwilling to let Poe out of his arms just yet. “I’ll email you when we land, or I’ll call when we get to Gaya, okay? And you’ll let me know that you got to Tikal safe next week?”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees, tightening his arms around Luke. “I promise.”   

Luke lets himself sink into the embrace for just one more moment, but beneath his skin, the calling to move whispers. So Luke pulls away enough to kiss Poe firmly once, and then once more, Poe’s lips lingering against his own, and steps back. “We’ll see you in August, okay?” Luke says, squeezing Poe’s hand.

“August,” Poe nods.

It aches to walk away, but it’s going to be a full trip, an exciting one, and Luke’s sure that when Poe lands in Guatemala next week, he’ll be smiling sincerely. The thought lingers with Luke through security, through the human-and-machine feat of airplane lift-off.

“I always wanted to see for myself what clouds look like from above,” Rey says, staring out the window.

Luke smiles. “Something you can check off the list, then.”  

* * *

> Leia Amidala-Lars, Providence, RI, personal letter to Luke Amidala-Lars, Tosche, NM, September 2, 1985.
> 
> “It’s strange to have started a school year without you. I know that would have happened regardless, with us going to different colleges, so it doesn’t really make a difference that you’re in New Mexico instead. It’s still the first time I’ve walked into my first day of classes without you a half-step behind.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this whole Walden Pond phase of yours doesn’t mean you think you’re getting out of hearing all the details of what college life is actually like. I’ll probably call you tonight, but someone’s got to save the art of letter writing, as Breha always says. It might as well be us.”

* * *

Rey and Luke get to Gaya in the late afternoon, tumbling off the train into the bright sunlight.

It’s going to be a busy summer, because they’re headed off on a pilgrimage tour for international tourists of Lumbini, Bodh Gaya, Sarnath and Kusinara, organized by a monastic order Luke’s been working with more than fifteen years now. But Luke had wanted to make sure Rey saw Bodh Gaya first of all of them, the way Luke did, decades ago.

They get to the guest house and after getting something to eat, both immediately go to sleep. But then like every year, Luke’s desire for sleep loses to the call to begin, to move. He wakes early the next morning, blinking at the sunshine filtering in through the window.

He lets the air settle in his lungs for a moment and then gets dressed. He’s just finished haphazardly brushing his teeth with bottled water when there’s a knock at the door. When he opens it, Rey’s standing in the hall, blinking a little slowly, like she hasn’t quite thrown off sleep yet.

“You’re already awake, too?” Luke asks, quietly, holding open the door so Rey can come in.

“Yeah,” she says, adjusting the shawl Luke had brought back for her when she was thirteen or fourteen around her shoulders. “You going out?”

“I didn’t want to wake you, but if you’re up, I thought I would go to Mahabodhi, to see the tree.”

“I want to come,” Rey agrees, quietly.

“Okay,” Luke agrees, an easy, warm peace in his chest. “Go wash up and we’ll walk over.”

Because it’s summer in North India, there’s fewer pilgrims than in the cooler months, but still there are already people at the temple when Rey and Luke get there.

“People say it’s a descendant of the bodhi tree the Buddha was meditating under when he reached enlightenment,” Luke says, quiet, as they do their circumambulation of the tree.

“I know,” Rey says, smiling up at the branches. “You’ve told me that before.” For the next round or two she’s silent and thoughtful, but when they sit cross-legged on the cool stone of the courtyard floor surrounded by pilgrims, tourists, monks, nuns, from all over the world, she says, “I’m glad we’re both here. That I could see the tree in person.”

“So am I,” Luke says, letting his eyes fall shut, taking in a slow, deep breath. Theed is home and his family and the beauty of fall foliage, but it’s here that Luke understands the meaning of peace: not just the absence of violence, but the active practice of construction, the balance of wisdom and compassion, the commitment to all sentient beings that the monks and nuns and pilgrims around him strive toward. Luke doesn't really believe in the grand and distant God his grandmother revered, nor in the intercession of the saints for whom he once lit candles. But trying to translate this moves beyond the question of belief; it’s a matter of doing, and doing his best.

* * *

> Poe Dameron, personal email to Luke Amidala-Lars, July 18, 2017.
> 
> “Back in Ciudad de Guatemala today and I miss you.
> 
> I read the new edited/revised chapters this morning — I think Rey and your editor are right, they do hold together better now. Plus, you can’t go wrong with desperate pre-battle kisses, can you? (Your subconscious trying to tell you something? Like I said, I miss you, too. I swear to God, I wake up reaching for you.) I can’t even express how satisfying I found Maya and Kira finally sorting themselves out, but I promise I’ll try to in a minute.
> 
> But first: logistical stuff. I’m not sure if you’re actually going to see and respond to this before I get home, because you have such sporadic internet access (by the way, I got a vaguely alarmed email from Finn regarding Rey’s apparently too-sparse communication the other day, just so you know), but yes, of course I’ll go check on the house once I get back to Theed next week.”

* * *

It’s early August — Poe’s twenty-ninth birthday in July had involved a crackly Skype call that cut out twice on Luke’s end — when Rey and Luke end up back in Bodh Gaya, finally getting a chance to stand still, less than a week before they’re due to head back to the States.

The morning of Luke’s birthday, Rey knocks at Luke’s door in the guest house. In lieu of saying good morning, she announces, seriously, “ _Janamdin mubarak ho_.”4

“ _Shabash_. _Bahut shukriya_ ,” Luke laughs.5 He steps aside to let her in. “Told you you’d pick up some Hindi this summer.”

“Well, I know some colors, some numbers, some food words, some religious stuff, how to ask where the hospital is, and how to say that I’m sorry, I only speak English,” Rey lists. “And now how to say happy birthday. So I guess it’s a start.”

They spend the day with some of Luke’s oldest friends in Bodh Gaya, the monks at the Tibetan monastery that his dissertation fieldwork centered on. More than one of them makes a joke about how Luke’s getting old and maybe he better give up this always-busy life he has to focus on learning the dharma, and Rey laughs each time.

At night, after doing some quick calculations to make sure he’s not calling so early it’ll be annoying but not so late she’ll be huffy about it, Luke gets Leia on the phone. It turns out he’s caught everyone during Leia’s birthday brunch, so after he and Leia catch up for a while, they play a game of pass the phone around — he talks briefly with Dak and Aditi, simultaneously, and then Han, and then Luke passes the phone over to Rey so she can talk to Finn. She wanders off with the phone for a good fifteen minutes before handing it back, smiling softly. And then Poe’s on the line.

“Hey!” Poe half-yells over the murmur of people in the background, the way he does sometimes when he’s on the phone with his relatives. “Happy birthday! Good so far?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, finding that he’s grinning suddenly. “Pretty good. Spent a lot of time getting made fun of by monks.”

“So, basically a typical day for you,” Poe says, warm with affection.

“Pretty much,” Luke agrees. “How are things there?”

“Well, no explosions yet, so relatively sedate, I guess. But there’s talk of playing Scrabble, so I’m starting to get concerned.”

“Yeah, Rey definitely picked up that particular competitive streak from Leia,” Luke says.

“I think I’m going to do my best to dodge the inevitable bloodbath.”

“Got better plans?” Luke asks, eyes closed, tracing over Poe’s face in his mind.

“Yeah, there’s this guy I need to make a call to,” Poe says, “but time differences are — Oh, hold on. Your mom’s right over here. She wants to talk to you, so I’m going to give the phone to her, okay?”

“Okay,” Luke agrees.

“I’m going to Skype you when I get home, so make sure you’re around to pick up.”

“I’ll pick up,” Luke promises. “Talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon,” Poe echoes, a little soft.

Then it’s his mother’s voice on the phone, warm and still the thing Luke most associates with a sense of home. “Hi, sweetheart. Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off,” Mom says.

“No, I wanted to talk to you, too,” Luke says, because there’s something about his and Leia’s birthday in particular that always makes him wish he were home, at least a little, where his mom could hug him and Leia could finish his sentences.

“Happy birthday,” Mom says, warmly. “Where has the time gone? Leaving you at your dorm in Berkeley feels like—”

“—just yesterday, I know,” Luke fills in, amused.

Mom laughs. “As if you aren’t just as bad with Rey and Ben.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Luke says. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Mom says. “But you’ll be home soon.”

“Not long now,” Luke agrees, caught the way he often is, between longing for the comfort of home and the itch under his skin that whispers there’s still so much more he could do.

“We’ll all be glad to have you home again,” Mom says, simply, and Luke nods, even knowing she can’t see him.

Rey’s already asleep next door when Luke’s startled out of his absent-minded perusal of his piled-up emails by the Skype call. After a few dragging moments, Poe’s face appears. “There you are,” he says, sounding satisfied.

“Hi,” Luke says, sitting up in his bed and settling back against the wall.

“Hey, corazón,” Poe says, grinning softly. “Sorry that took so long. Your family is completely crazy.”

“I am well aware,” Luke agrees, yawning.

“What time is it for you? Is it already super late?” Poe asks, adjusting his laptop screen.

“Little past eleven,” Luke says, glancing up to check.

“And you’re already that tired?” Poe asks. “You are getting old.”

“Hilarious,” Luke says, rolling his eyes. “We were up at five in the morning, so this is totally reasonable, actually.”

Poe winces. “Sorry. But five more days and you’ll be home. And then you can sleep for normal amounts of time. In your own bed. With me,” he says, grinning by the end of his statement.

“Yeah, five days,” Luke agrees, watching Poe’s smile. “Wait, have I told you when our flight lands?”

“Yes,” Poe laughs. “I made you send your flight details when you booked them, remember? You think I don’t know when you guys are getting in?”

“I love you,” Luke says, because he hasn't yet today, and it’s true, and it makes Poe smile, soft and warm like a secret between them.

“I love you, too,” Poe says. “Tell me about your day?”

“Sure,” Luke agrees quietly.

* * *

> Luke Amidala-Lars, personal email to Poe Dameron, August 16, 2017.
> 
> “We’ve reached the Dubai airport and it’s that surreal time around three in the morning here — well past midnight, but well before dawn. Rey’s sleeping in the chair next to me, because we’ve got about another three hours before we board. She really has a remarkable ability to fall asleep anywhere.
> 
> I don’t, and for as much time as I’ve spent in them over the years, I’ve always found airport lounges to be very odd places — liminal spaces, as the anthropologist in me wants to say. Places where time seems to be both of the utmost importance and an utterly strange idea. I’m sitting here and thinking about the fact that before my body lives another twenty-four hours, I’ll see you, in person, in front of me. I’ll be able to reach out and feel your smile and your hair and your hands beneath my fingers.”

* * *

They land at JFK in the late afternoon and the very first thing Rey does, before the plane has even finished pulling into the gate, is turn on her phone and call Finn, almost bouncing in her seat.

“Hi, we landed! Are you here?” she says all in a rush, already beaming. “Good!” She pauses, but her legs are jittery. “I know! I know!” she says. “Yeah, yeah, you too.”

Then she hands the phone to Luke, saying, “Poe wants to talk to you.”

“Hi,” Poe’s voice comes over the phone. It’s different, hearing him when Luke knows they’re only hundreds of feet away from one another, not thousands of miles.   

“Hey,” Luke breathes out.

“We’re going to be right there when you get out of the baggage claim area, okay?” Poe says. “We’re by some sign that says ground transportation.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees. “Poe? Thanks for coming to pick us up.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Poe says, simply.

Rey is practically thrumming with excitement as they disembark. “Come on!” she says, tugging at Luke’s elbow.

“Very strong young woman,” an elderly lady waiting by them near the baggage carousel says, when Rey hefts their luggage off.

“She certainly is,” Luke agrees with a laugh.

When they get out, Finn’s voice immediately greets them. “Rey! Rey, over here!” he calls and Rey practically sprints around the barrier, to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. And so, Luke’s first sight of Poe in person in two months is him laughing.

“Hey,” Luke says, leaning across the barrier to brush a kiss against Poe’s smiling lips.

“Hi,” Poe echoes.

As Luke walks toward the edge of the barrier, Poe mirrors him on the other side, with Rey and Finn caught up in a rapid-fire, overlapping exchange, their faces lit up in joy.  

“Here, let me get that,” Poe says, gesturing for Luke’s beat-up canvas backpack, the one that’s been making the trip back and forth from India with him for decades now, the one that’s gone with him to crowded train stations and temples and on bus rides that made Luke very aware of his own mortality. It’s been through enough that Luke doesn’t mind dropping it softly to the ground and stepping into Poe’s arms instead.

It’s the kind of fierce, almost painful hug Luke usually reserves for Han, or Leia, especially. Poe breathes out deeply and Luke can feel the rise and fall of his chest.  

They’ve barely made it out of Queens before Rey crashes, snoring quietly. When Luke glances back, he sees her slumped against Finn, who’s evidently fallen asleep, too. Poe looks up and over to the rearview mirror and grins.

“I’m not sure he even slept last night,” Poe says. “I swear he texted me at five in the morning.”

“Well, he’s young,” Luke says.

Poe laughs and reaches out for Luke’s hand, laces their fingers together and raises the back of Luke’s hand to his lips.

“Hey, eyes on the road,” Luke says, quiet and entirely too affectionate to sound serious.

“Yours aren’t,” Poe says, smiling, not needing to look back at Luke again to confirm what he’s saying is true.

“I’m not the one driving,” Luke replies.

“Are you tired?” Poe asks.

“Unbelievably,” Luke admits. “I always get terrible jetlag on the way back for some reason.”

“Take a nap,” Poe says. “You might need it. I think your family’s planning on dropping by.”

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs, “they usually do, right when I get back.”

And the next thing Luke knows, Poe is waking him up with a gentle squeeze of his knee as they make the turn onto Luke’s street. As Poe pulls into the driveway, Luke catches sight of the Falcon parked out front, and the living room windows, thrown open. Rey and Finn tumble out of the backseat into the fading summer sunshine.

“You’re staying tonight?” Luke half asks Poe.

“Only place I’m planning to go is to bed with you,” Poe leans over to murmur into Luke’s ear, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of laughing at himself.

“Good to know,” Luke grins and tips his head to steal a kiss. Poe kisses back, heated, like he’s determined to get as thoroughly reacquainted with Luke’s mouth as he can before they have to go inside.

“I missed that,” Poe murmurs, pulling back.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, a little breathless.    

Then Luke gets out of the car, welcomes the faint sound of seagulls in the distance and the familiar creak of the porch beneath his feet. He lets his mother smooth her hands over his shoulders, like she’s checking him over, the way she always does, and lets Leia wrinkle her nose and tell him he needs a haircut when she finally steps back from their hug.

Leia and Han have brought the usual short-term supplies — dinner and breakfast materials and a bag of freshly ground coffee, enough to get Luke through to whenever he works up the motivation to go grocery shopping.

“The flight back was okay?” Mom asks quietly, reaching out to fix Luke’s hair, when they’re both on the couch. Between them, they’ve traversed thousands of miles in flight (Luke wonders, sometimes, how much of his mother’s life has been spent in transit — weeks, months?) and she still asks, every time. Even during the years when nowhere in particular felt like home, his mother’s quiet questions still gave him a sense of homecoming.

“Yeah, it was fine,” Luke says, sitting still as Mom tucks an errant wisp of hair behind his ear.

Rey’s evident exhaustion gets them all moving after a while and there’s another round of hugs. Rey climbs the stairs to her bedroom like even that’s a herculean task at the moment.

It’s a relief to settle into the bed at night, the recycled air of the plane washed off, the sheets soft against his skin.

“So what do you want to do tomorrow?” Poe asks, propped up on an elbow. “First day home.”

Luke blinks slowly. His mind, addled from the time difference, the trip, the whirlwind of his family, takes a long moment to process. “Sleep,” he says, honestly. “For at least twelve hours.”

Poe smiles, leans forward and kisses him. “Okay. What else?”

Luke hums in thought and offers, “Eat something with cheese in it.”

Poe laughs and kisses him again in acknowledgement. “Cheese. Got it. Anything more you want to add to the list?”

“Sex with you,” Luke mumbles, his eyelids so heavy now that he barely keep them open.

This time when Poe kisses him, Luke’s so close to sleep that it’s more a laughing brush of Poe‘s lips than anything else. “We can definitely do all those things,” Poe says, soft, nuzzling Luke’s temple and settling in next to him.

With the weight of Poe’s arm draped across him, Luke tumbles into sleep, dreams of walking barefoot from the courtyard of Mahabodhi under monsoon rain straight into U.N. Plaza in New York until the East River becomes the university arboretum, the rainfall morphing into red-gold autumn leaves that crunch beneath his feet.

Luke is woken, against his will, by the sound of someone in the kitchen.

When Luke goes down to investigate, squinting resentfully against the summer morning sunlight, it’s Poe putting away groceries, wearing old black jeans and a faded NASA t-shirt that reads, “Let’s Do Launch.” When he looks up, hearing Luke, a beatific smile blooms across his face. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Nice shirt,” Luke comments, unable to keep from smiling in return. Even though Luke is rumpled and only half-awake and still so tired he can feel it in every muscle, Poe standing here in his kitchen is an utterly welcome sight. Theed in mid-August is a town in anticipation, awaiting the arrival of its students, but Luke’s already got what he wants to see right in front of him.

Poe glances down at himself and says solemnly, “Thank you.” Then he reaches out, stepping closer, and pulls Luke into him, kissing him, warm and insistent and worshipful. Luke melts into him, reveling in the sensation of Poe’s skin against his own, of Poe’s curls tangled in his fingers. “Hi,” Poe murmurs, one hand cupping Luke’s neck, the other resting low on Luke’s back. “So I don’t know if I mentioned this yesterday, but it is really fucking good to see you.”

“You, too,” Luke mumbles back, almost against Poe’s lips, unwilling to move any further away just yet.

“You still super jetlagged?” Poe asks, rucking up Luke’s undershirt so he can trace his fingers up the line of Luke’s spine.

“Honestly, my brain can’t comprehend what time it—” Luke breaks off, yawning, and Poe shakes his head, faux-offended.

“I mean if I’m boring you, I can just leave,” he says, not moving an inch.

“Sorry, sorry,” Luke mutters, tucking his face into the warm skin of Poe’s neck and gripping the back of Poe’s shirt. “I’m just so tired, I swear my eyeballs hurt.”

“What an incredibly enticing thing to say,” Poe replies, and Luke can feel the vibration of his laughter.

“I try,” Luke agrees.

“Come on,” Poe says, stepping back to grab Luke’s hand and lead him toward the stairs, “I’m taking you back to bed.”

“Rey?”

“Went over to Finn’s place like an hour ago,” Poe finishes.

“Okay,” Luke says, warm and loose-limbed from the comfort of being home.

“So, here’s my plan — we’re going to sleep, because looking at you trying to stay awake is physically paining me, and then we’re going to have brunch or lunch or whatever. And then I’m going to get you naked,” Poe says, leading Luke into the bedroom.

“Okay,” Luke agrees, slipping off his glasses again as he climbs back into the bed and pulls the covers up. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty smart,” Poe says, pulling off his t-shirt and jeans and glasses, and then climbing into bed alongside Luke. “Got a Ph.D. and everything.”

“Very impressive,” Luke says, half into his pillow, mind already fogged with sleep again.

Poe tangles their legs together, sliding a hand over Luke’s hip and settling in closer, brushing one kiss, then another and another, against the back of Luke’s neck, the top of his spine, until Luke’s breath hitches a little.

“That doesn’t seem very conducive to sleeping,” Luke mumbles, shifting back into the too-warm, insistent press of Poe’s body against his.

“Just checking that I remembered that right,” Poe laughs, close to Luke’s ear. “Go to sleep, okay?”

When Luke wakes again, it’s afternoon — the clock says 1:17 when Luke turns his head to check, squinting — and Poe’s sitting up against the headboard, bare-chested, reading something on his tablet.

“Hey,” he says, smiling when he realizes Luke’s awake. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I am,” Luke says, sitting up and nodding. He takes a moment just to steep in the press of Poe’s thigh against his own, the comfortable familiarity of his house, the bright summer sunlight filtering through the tree branches outside, hitting the bookshelves, slipping onto the bed. When Poe turns his head to kiss him, Luke parts his lips automatically, leaning in, getting his fingers into Poe’s hair to tug lightly so Poe sighs into the kiss.

“Hi,” Poe says, pulling back to smile.

“Hey,” Luke laughs, utterly happy. “Rey come back?” he asks.

Poe shakes his head, putting his tablet on the nightstand. “She texted about an hour ago, said she was going to crash at Finn’s tonight but that she’ll be there tomorrow for brunch with your family.”

“Okay,” Luke says.

“You hungry?” Poe asks, his fingers tracing idly over the back of Luke’s neck.

“Actually,” Luke says, trying to keep from grinning and failing, “I thought maybe we could make a revision to your proposed schedule.”

“Is that right?” Poe asks, smile growing wicked.

“Yeah,” Luke says, getting up on his knees so he can swing a leg over Poe’s hips, settle into Poe’s lap. Poe wraps his arms around Luke’s back in immediate response.

“Let me guess — you want to talk about the report from the curriculum review committee,” Poe says, attempting a straight face.

“That is exactly what I was thinking,” Luke says solemnly. Then he can't help but break into a laugh. “God, did you really read that whole thing already? Didn’t it just go out two days ago?”

“Yup. And of course I already read it. Because I happen to care about what our students are learning. I mean, really, where’s your commitment to the university, Amidala?” Poe says, in mock disapproval, even as he’s trailing his hands over Luke’s back, his shoulder blades.

“Must have left it in the Patna airport,” Luke says, shaking his head.

Poe laughs, delighted, and Luke decides they should really be kissing. When he dips his head to kiss Poe again, Poe surges up to meet him. For long moments, the only things Luke can think about are Poe’s lips and tongue and hands and neck.

When they pull apart to catch their breath, Poe has an expression on his face like he’s caught sight of something astonishing and humbling — the kind of look Luke sees on people’s faces when the clouds part to reveal the high Himalayas in the distance.

“What is it?” Luke asks, pushing Poe’s hair back from his temple.

“I think I understand that Mirabai poem better, now,” Poe says, leaning in so his lips brush Luke’s cheek, the edge of his mouth. “ _My wandering heart has returned_ ,” he quotes, against Luke’s skin.6

“She was in love with a god,” Luke laughs. “You know I’m not one, right?”

Poe looks thoughtful. “Well, I do think you’re just _divine_ —”

Luke rolls his eyes, but can’t help grinning.

“—but yes, I am pretty clear that you’re not some sort of deity,” Poe says, pressing his smile against Luke’s chest, then looking up again. “And I’m glad you’re not, corazón, because it means that you’re someone I can hold onto. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that I get to keep you.”

And Luke is suddenly breathless, because he hears the truth in Poe’s voice, feels it in his touch. Luke has never believed that words of devotion could be his in this way, everyday and matter-of-fact and honest. He’s never felt a homecoming like this.

Luke laughs in helpless joy, because what else can he do? His heart pounding pleasantly, he pulls away just far enough to drink in the sight of Poe, golden in the sunlight, dark curls mussed.

“I love you, too,” Luke says, and kisses Poe, slow and fervent, until Poe makes a small noise at the back of his throat, and melts under Luke’s touch.

Luke leans back a bit so he can watch Poe’s eyes open, heavy-lidded, dazed.

Poe smiles, and says, “Luke,” like he’s the only thing that matters to Poe in this moment.

“I really, really want you to fuck me now,” Luke breathes.

“I was hoping that’s what this position meant,” Poe says, and Luke makes sure to elbow him in the shoulder as he leans to the left to grab the lube. Poe winces exaggeratedly, but his hand comes up to steady Luke’s balance all the same.

“So, I have a surprise for you,” Luke says, settling back on Poe’s lap. He can feel himself starting to blush.

Poe looks intrigued. “Oh, yeah?”

They’d talked about this before, one night over Skype, and Luke had been able to see just how red and embarrassed he’d looked. He imagines he looks much the same now. “I mean, it’s in my bag, but that’s downstairs, and it’s not in a language you can read anyway? But, I mean, I went to a clinic in Gaya and got tested, and you said you’d never but you might want to, um—” Luke stutters to a halt. Poe is watching him with a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows, bemused. “We don’t have to but, I thought—”

“Luke Amidala-Lars, are you trying to ask me if I want to have sex with you without a condom?” Poe interrupts, and his face is delighted.

Luke sighs. “Yes. ‘Trying’ being the operative word.”

“That sounds _great_ ,” Poe says, and Luke kisses him to stop his own mouth from talking.

Poe steals the lube out of Luke’s hand and drops it on the bedspread so he can put both his hands on Luke’s knees and press them slowly up the length of Luke’s thighs, under the legs of his boxers. It lights up Luke’s nerve endings, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of the slick slide of Poe’s tongue against his, the heat of the sun on his skin, the way his cock hardens under the fabric of his boxers, pulled tight over Poe’s wrists.

Luke breaks away from Poe’s mouth long enough to reach up to the back of his shirt collar and pull it over his head. Poe extracts one hand to help Luke skim it off his arms, then drags his palm over Luke’s spine, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. It’s like Luke’s skin is coming alive under Poe’s touch, and he leans his head back so Poe can kiss the hollow of his throat.

Poe sweeps his hand under the waistband of his boxers and over the curve of Luke’s ass, and makes a thoughtful noise, squeezing his thigh with his other hand. “You been working out? And I swear I don’t mean that as a pickup line.”

“Don’t you?” Luke asks, amused. “But yeah, I thought I mentioned Rey’s summer obsession with yoga.”

“You didn’t mention you’d been going _with_ her,” Poe says, sounding vaguely betrayed. “Don’t you know how much I would’ve enjoyed that information?”

Luke laughs, and decides to palm Poe’s cock through his boxers instead of answering a rhetorical question. “Come on, take these off. I was promised nakedness.”

“I love that you were practically a zombie but still remember that part of the conversation,” Poe says, but removes his hands from Luke’s boxers so they can maneuver themselves through the awkward acrobatics of undressing.

Naked and straddling Poe’s lap again, Luke drifts his hand down Poe’s gorgeous chest, thumbing at a nipple just to hear the noise Poe makes. Poe pays him back, kissing Luke’s neck as he slicks his fingers, rubs teasingly down his cleft. Luke moans, and melts into the touch.

Poe curses under his breath. “I forgot how fucking hot it is, when you’re like this.” He slides one finger inside, and Luke leans his head against Poe’s, feeling sun-drenched and boneless.

“Consider this your reminder,” Luke mumbles, not entirely sure what he’s saying, as Poe kisses a line down to his collarbone and adds a second finger.

He drifts a bit on the flood of sensation — Poe working him open on his fingers, the sunshine warm on his bare back, the sound of Poe’s breathing and the familiar smell of them at home in his bed — feeling dreamy and timeless, his body insisting it’s nearly midnight even as the afternoon sunshine spills over his sheets.

Then Poe makes a tiny sound and bites his collarbone, and Luke looks down between them. He lazily loops his thumb and forefinger just under the head of Poe’s leaking cock, and tugs up — not enough to slide, just to make Poe feel that upward pressure there, under the ridge of his glans. Luke smiles to himself when Poe’s hips jerk, when Poe adds a third finger and Luke takes it easily.

“You’re killing me, Amidala,” Poe mutters, and retaliates by wrapping his free hand around Luke’s cock. Luke just hums agreement and kisses Poe, rocking back onto Poe’s fingers inside him and forward into his slick grip, until he needs more.

Poe protests with a whine when Luke takes his hand away, but immediately stops at the click of Luke thumbing open the lube. With one hand, Luke’s options are somewhat restricted for application, but he doesn’t mind at all when he gets to watch Poe writhe under him, abs tensing beautifully as Luke drizzles slick directly onto his cock. He fists Poe once, base to head, then kneels up without further ado.

Poe slips his fingers free and guides himself into Luke, moans as Luke sinks down onto him, grabs onto Luke’s hips like a lifeline. Luke is breathless with the sensation — he’s never let anyone fuck him bare before, but the blood-hot length of Poe’s cock inside him is so right that it feels familiar.

Desire curls hot in his belly, and his body is heavy with want, but Luke feels curiously without urgency as he rides Poe in slow, tight glides, listening to the soft, punched-out sounds Poe makes. He wants this to last forever, just him, them, together like this. He knows it can’t, but the thought doesn’t sadden him; he just sinks into the want, and kisses Poe deep and wet, and knows Poe isn’t going anywhere.

When his thighs start to tremble from the long, sustained work, Luke lowers himself all the way down, breathing hard, savoring the feel of Poe’s thick, hard length as he rocks his hips. Poe looks utterly wrecked, lips red and bitten, hair a mess from Luke’s hand. He shudders as his hips try to thrust up under Luke’s and can’t, pinned down by his weight.

“Luke, I need — can I—”

“Yes,” Luke says, because he doesn’t know what Poe is asking for, but he knows he wants to give it to him.

Poe tumbles Luke onto his back without another word, and Luke barely has time to miss his touch before Poe has his hands on the backs of Luke’s thighs, spreading him open and pressing into him with a slow deliberation that makes Luke aware of every single inch.

“Oh, fuck,” Luke gasps, and the desperation he was missing before blazes up in him.

Poe fucks him in a faster rhythm than Luke’s previous dreamy pace, but he keeps the long strokes, pulling almost entirely out before thrusting back in with measured control. Luke would almost call it hypnotic, if it weren’t driving him out of his mind, every sweet movement sparking hot up his spine. His cock is dripping pre-come on his stomach, but the way Poe has his legs pressed back keeps Luke from jerking himself. Poe’s hands pin him in place and make him take it, relentless, overwhelming, and Luke starts moaning and can’t stop.

“Luke, god, you’re so, I can’t,” Poe says, fragmented, and buries himself to the hilt and comes, pulsing, inside him.

Poe all but collapses on Luke for a moment, but rouses himself enough to release Luke’s thighs, leans forward for a slow, thorough kiss. Luke wraps his legs around Poe’s waist and arches up, desperate for friction even as Poe softens and slips out.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Poe murmurs, and slides down to take Luke into his mouth, pushing three fingers inside Luke where he’s fucked-open and sensitive.

Luke moans at the wet heat of Poe’s mouth, at the feel of being stretched again, and clenches around Poe’s fingers. He tangles his fingers in Poe’s curls — not holding, just feeling the rise and fall of Poe’s head as he sucks Luke off.

Luke feels his orgasm build fast, electric, and gasps out a warning. Poe just takes him in even farther, looking up to meet Luke’s eyes with his lips wrapped tight around his cock, and that just — that does it. Luke comes down Poe’s throat and shakes with the force of it washing over him, leaving him stunned and spent in its wake.

Poe crawls back up to kiss Luke, soft and a little sloppy, weight resting heavy and wonderful on Luke for a long stretch. They eventually separate long enough to sacrifice a corner of the sheet for a haphazard cleanup, then manage to get themselves right way around on the bed again, Luke face-planting into his pillow.

Poe curls into Luke’s side, hooking an arm over his back and occasionally making a slow sweep of his hand down to Luke’s hip and up again. “Welcome home,” he mumbles, half-muffled into Luke’s bare shoulder, and Luke has to laugh, contentment spilling through him.

“Good to be back,” he says, and falls into sleep, inevitable as a stone sinking to the bottom of a river.

* * *

> Luke Skywalker, _Who Walk in Light_ (New York: Endor, forthcoming), 269.
> 
> “Wait,” Maya said, catching Kira’s arm. “Please don’t go yet — I still need to tell you something.”
> 
> Kira turned, her long braid whipping around over her shoulder. Around them pilots were powering up their ships and ground troops were doing last minute equipment checks. A thousand choices, minute and immense, had brought them all to this moment — and Teo was right. In the midst of all that history, beneath the weight of her Jedi cloak, what Maya cared about most was that Kira was here, alive and in front of her.
> 
> “Yes?” Kira asked.
> 
> Maya closed her eyes, breathed in, and gathered her courage. Then she opened her eyes again, to take in Kira, freckles crowded across her cheekbones, the scar at her upper lip — the sight of her was familiar now, but all the more welcome for that. Maya smiled, and said, “I love you.” And then, because precision was vital, “I’m in love with you.”
> 
> Kira’s mouth fell open. Maya had seen a lot reactions from Kira over the years they’d known each other now, but speechless had never been one of them.
> 
> “I wanted to tell you, in case,” Maya continued. “You don’t have to say anything. But I wanted you to know.”
> 
> Kira reached out her hands to Maya, still wide-eyed, and Maya mirrored her, threading their fingers together and stepping in closer. Kira looked down at their joined hands and a bright, brilliant smile spread across her face. “I love you, too,” she said, like this was a wonder. It was, to Maya.
> 
> And now that the words had been said, now that Maya’s heart was singing with the fierce need to survive, to live out the promise of Kira’s smile, Maya leaned in and pressed her lips to Kira’s. Kira made a sound somewhere in the back of her throat and disentangled their fingers so she could cup Maya’s face, like she had to keep her there, memorize this moment. Maya let her, because it was what she wanted, too. The sounds of the busy hangar bay seemed to fade, so that there was only this, a kiss that made warmth spill through Maya’s limbs like summer sunshine, a kiss to come home to.
> 
> “May you walk in light, Kira Ulata of the Canyon Wind Clan,” Maya whispered, finally pulling back.
> 
> Kira’s eyes were closed and she was smiling — again, or perhaps still. “And may the stars shine on your path, until we meet again,” she answered.

* * *

“—best soup dumplings I’ve had in my life, I swear to God,” Luke hears as he enters the living room. It’s Poe’s friend Jess, over Skype.

Poe tips his head back over the armrest, smiles at him upside down. “You going somewhere?” he asks.

“Hey, Luke,” Jess’s voice calls.

“Hi,” Luke says, bending down to wave. Jess waves back. “How are you?”

“Doing good,” Jess says cheerily. “I was just telling Poe that we totally killed it in court yesterday and one of the partners took us out to dinner. Also, just reminding him that New York has such superior celebration options to Theed that it’s not even on the same scale.”

Luke smiles. “You got tired of all the sit-down restaurants in town when you were in college? With all that variety? Can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Jess laughs. “I’ll take you guys to this place next time you come into the city,” she says to Poe.

“I’m down,” Poe says. Then he tilts his face up toward Luke and says, “You were going to tell me where you’re headed.”

“I remember,” Luke says, flicking an errant curl by Poe’s ear. “Leia needs me to get some stuff from the grocery store that Han forgot.”

“Want me to come with?” Poe asks, sitting up.

“If you want. I’m going to go straight there after, so it might be easier.”

“Yeah, I’ll come. That makes more sense,” Poe decides. 

“Sorry I’m cutting you off,” Luke says to Jess.

“Nah, I’m done gloating over our victory for the moment,” Jess says. “Besides I’m fully expecting you to live-text me the whole thing if any crazy academic drama goes down,” she informs Poe.

“You gotta be more specific,” Poe says, shaking his head. “What scale of crazy are we talking about here?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll let you figure it out,” Jess replies.

“Okay,” Poe laughs. “We’ll see what happens.”

In the grocery store, Luke tosses items into the cart, half-consulting the list he’d scrawled on a post-it.

“They seriously forgot paper plates?” Poe asks dubiously. “Leia’s way too organized for that to be true. 

“Han does most of the shopping for this,” Luke says, with a shrug. Poe looks vaguely alarmed. “Welcome to the behind-the-scenes disaster.”

“What a privilege,” Poe says. “Okay, what else is on the list?”

When they get to Leia and Han’s house, Leia greets them by saying, “Oh, good, you’re here. Did you get—”

“Ice?” Poe asks, holding the bag up.

“It’s good to have _someone_ sensible here,” Leia says, nodding at him.  

“Thanks,” Luke says dryly.

A few hours later, the guests have arrived, and Luke’s in the backyard with Poe and Dak and Aditi, with half an eye out for Rey, who’d insisted she wanted to come, even though it’s the middle of first-year orientation.

Korr Sella wanders over then, smiling slightly and waving hello.

“Hey!” Poe says. “I heard about the book award! Really exciting!”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Dak grins, and Luke echoes him along with Aditi.

“Thank you,” Korr smiles. “Poe, Connix and I wanted to talk to you about the grad student pedagogy seminars. We think maybe we can rearrange—” She pauses and asks, “Actually, would you like to grab drinks before we do this?" 

“I really would,” Poe agrees.

“It might improve things,” Korr says with a faint wry smile. Aditi laughs quietly. 

“I’ll come find you later,” Poe says, brushing his knuckles over Luke’s forearm.  

Luke nods and Dak grins in amusement as Poe and Korr wander off toward to the coolers, Poe saying something about how they should really go out, celebrate Korr’s award. “What, Ralter?” Luke asks. 

“Nothing,” Dak laughs. “So, the two of you, that’s stuck it out okay, huh? Guess you didn’t need to be worried.”

Aditi doesn’t add anything out loud but she tips her head slightly and smiles.

Luke can feel the back of his neck starting to go warm, but he just says, “Things are good with us,” and it’s the truth.

Dak laughs again and says, “Think Korr had the right idea. I’m gonna go grab a beer. Do either of you want anything?”

“If there’s red wine,” Aditi says.

Luke shrugs. “I guess whatever you’re having.”  

As Dak walks off into the crowd, Aditi turns back to Luke and asks, “ _To, kya tum kush ho?_ ”7

And Luke gets it, because for all that Aditi is less prone to interrogating him than Dak is, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t ask in her own way. But he still can’t help but laugh a little. “That’s kind of a huge question. _Aaj, ya zindagi mein?_ ”8

“Dono,” Aditi says.

“Oh, both, okay,” Luke says, grinning and shaking his head. “Yeah,” he says more seriously now, because Aditi’s looking up at him a little speculatively, “I’m happy.”

“Good,” Aditi says, giving him a one-armed hug. Luke leans into it a bit.

That’s when Dak returns, escorting Mom. “Hi, sweetheart,” she says, kissing Luke’s cheek. “Your jetlag gone yet?”  

“Mostly,” Luke says.

“That’s good. Are any of your students here?” Mom asks.

“Thought I spotted Hannah somewhere,” Dak offers.

“Hi!” Hannah says, bouncing over from somewhere on their right as if summoned.

“Hey! The scholar herself, back from her first solo fieldwork,” Luke says, giving her a quick hug. “Mom, you remember Hannah. She’s my advisee who works in Sikkim — going into her third year now.”

“Chancellor Amidala, it’s good to see you,” Hannah says with a smile.

“Third year. Wow, Jesus,” Dak says. “I should know that and it’s still crazy to me.”

Aditi smiles. “How are you? You just got back, then?”

“Yeah. It was a good summer. It’s kind of strange to be back. I guess I’m missin’ my buddy a little bit. My friend Lin left to spend the year in Bhutan three weeks ago,” Hannah explains to Mom. “But I’m excited to be out of coursework.”

“Lin settling in okay over there?” Luke asks. “I haven’t heard much from her yet.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Hannah says. “She’s been sending me like, photo essays of the food she’s been eating, so I’m sensing things are going pretty well.”

Luke means to ask her about Hannah’s summer — their sporadic emails didn’t give Luke much in the way of details about how her initial fieldwork panned out — but then one of Leia’s grad students comes out onto the porch and yells, “Hannah! You’ve come back to us!” Hannah waves back enthusiastically.

“Someone seems to want to talk to you,” Aditi observes with a smile. 

“Apparently,” Hannah laughs. She turns to Luke, apologetic. 

“Go catch up with people. We can talk on Monday,” Luke assures her.

Hannah grins and nods, running over the porch, where Rey and Finn have just appeared, holding laden-down plates as they walk over.

“Found the food, huh,” Luke says, smiling at them both. Rey nods, her mouth full, and waves at everyone.

“I’ve never seen the Dean not in a suit,” Finn says wonderingly. Then he frowns and adds, “Well, actually, I guess I never really see him anyway.”

Mom smiles in amusement at that. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that, then,” she declares. “How has orientation been, dear?” she asks, turning to Rey.

“A little silly sometimes,” Rey admits. “They’ve got so many activities lined up. But I’m really excited for classes to start.”

“Speaking of which, I’ll be seeing you in seminar on Tuesday, isn’t that right?” Aditi asks.

“Yup,” Rey grins. 

“Is Poe not here?” Finn asks, glancing around. 

“We lost him to some history department junior faculty commiseration session,” Dak fills in. 

“I was thinking I might try to retrieve him, actually,” Luke says, absently scanning the yard.

“Do that,” Mom says, pushing gently at Luke’s arm. “I’d like to say hello. And see if you can find your sister while you’re at it. I haven’t even seen her yet.” 

“Okay, Mom,” Luke agrees. It takes a few minutes to spot Poe in the crowded backyard, but finally Luke catches sight of his curls by one of the folding tables filled with food. 

“Hey,” Luke says, walking over and sliding his hand across Poe’s shoulder blade. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Poe agrees with grin, leaning against Luke for a moment. “Fancy bumping into you.”

“Yeah, what a surprise,” Luke smiles back. “My mom’s here, wants to say hi. And Rey and Finn showed up.”

“Okay,” Poe says, threading their fingers together. “Lead the way.”

“Have you seen Leia recently?”

“Mmm, think she’s over by the grill with Han and Chewie. It seemed like they were arguing about veggie burgers?” Poe says.

“Okay. Let’s maybe stay out of the way of that,” Luke decides. 

“Such a good brother,” Poe laughs. 

“I just have well-honed survival instincts by now,” Luke says.

“Do you though?” Poe asks.

Luke decides to ignore that, nodding over to where his mother is holding court. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Hi, dear,” Mom says, giving Poe a brisk kiss on the cheek when they’ve navigated back through the clumps of people. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” Poe says with a bright smile. “Excited about the new semester. Is your office getting inundated about the proposed undergrad curriculum changes?” 

“Positive reactions, mostly,” Mom says sedately. “The town halls last year were helpful.”

“Yeah, the democratic process in action. So, how’s orientation going?” Poe asks, grinning at Rey. 

“Good?” Rey says, stealing a mini-quiche off Finn’s plate. “We’re playing so many icebreakers, which is kind of annoying, but whatever. Some of the people on my hall seem pretty cool.”

As the day fades into evening, Rey regales Anand and Malini, who have deigned to come after all, with stories from the summer while Finn grins and occasionally prompts her to share some detail she’d left out. Leia and Han wander over and she and Poe end up in some conversation about microfiche readers that Luke tunes out of pretty much immediately in favor of trading increasingly ridiculous excuses for delays that they might offer their editors with Aditi and Dak. Han rolls his eyes.

Eventually, the crowd of people starts thinning out, the line of cars parked out front diminishing.

“Okay, Finn and I are headed out,” Rey says. “We’ll see you for breakfast on Sunday.”

“Have fun with the first-year bonding,” Poe laughs.

Rey shakes her head at him and gives Luke a quick hug, before walking off hand-in-hand with Finn, who seems to be trying to convince her that not all of first-year orientation is inane.

Leia co-opts Poe into helping her clear off the folding tables, while Luke sits by his mom, showing her some of his photos from the summer on his phone and Han drinks a beer, finally freed from the grill.

“I think that was a success after all,” Leia says, sinking into the couch.

Han begins, “And see, the grill was fine. Like it is every—” 

“Okay,” Leia says, holding up a hand, but with a hint of a smile.

“Okay,” Han grumbles, but he settles back against the couch again.

“Leia, are you sure you don’t want help washing the dishes and stuff?” Poe asks, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans.   

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s what I’ve got him for,” Leia says, patting Han on the shoulder.

“Take the out,” Luke advises. 

“Luke,” Mom says in disapproving amusement.

Poe laughs. “I do actually really need to go feed my cat.”

“Okay,” Luke agrees, getting up. He bends over to give his mom a hug, and when he’s stepped back, Mom beckons Poe over as well. Poe smiles and walks over to hug Mom too.

“Good night, Poe,” Mom says, patting his hand. 

“Good night, Padme,” Poe replies. 

They drive back to Poe’s place with the windows rolled down and when Poe gets the door open, Beebee’s already waiting to greet them, twining around their legs. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s been feeling neglected since you got home,” Poe laughs. 

“Hi, Beebee,” Luke says, getting down on his haunches to pet her. “Poe hasn’t been giving you enough attention, huh? But you’re such a cute cat.”

Beebee brushes her face against Luke’s knee, meowing like she’s accepting the compliment. 

“She’s been getting the whole bed to herself. I bet she’s been loving it,” Poe says. “She’s just being all cute right now because she loves the attention. Isn’t that right?” he says, scrunching his nose up affectionately at Beebee. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

Beebee trots over into the kitchen area and stands there staring at Poe. 

“I think that’s a pretty clear request,” Luke laughs.

“Everyone’s got demands these days,” Poe says. He puts out food with Beebee meowing and brushing up against his leg. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry.”

Luke hangs out on the couch while Poe rummages around his bedroom for some extremely important notepad. “We could stay here tonight,” Luke points out.

“Yeah, but all my lecture prep stuff’s at yours anyway and I wanted go over it tomorrow morning,” Poe says, emerging from the bedroom brandishing a legal pad.

When Beebee realizes they’re leaving again, she meows in protest. “I know, buddy, I’m sorry,” Poe says. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I kind of want to kidnap your cat now,” Luke tells Poe on the drive back home. “She’s breaking my heart." 

“You know, given that amount of time I spend at your house, I suspect I would notice that change of residence,” Poe laughs.

“Just forewarning you,” Luke says solemnly.

“That in the future if I want to see my cat, I should come to your place?”

Luke shrugs. “Maybe. You never know.”

“Well, theft is something of an area of expertise for you, so I guess I better watch out,” Poe laughs.

“One day that’s going to stop being so funny to you,” Luke says.

“You might be waiting a while for that day,” Poe informs him seriously.

They spend the rest of the ride debating whether it really counted as theft when Luke hadn’t actually gotten the tree off school grounds.

“You know, if you and your cat and I all lived in the same place, that would solve the problem,” Luke offers quietly, when he’s unlocked the front door and they’re standing just inside the foyer.

Poe looks at him, eyes a little wide, before a beaming smile blooms across his face. “Yeah?”

“I mean, we did say we’d talk about it in the fall maybe,” Luke says, his fingers suddenly restless.

“Yeah, yeah, Luke, I want to,” Poe says, grinning and reaching out to pull Luke into a kiss.

“I know it’s not great timing for you to try subletting, with the semester already starting,” Luke says, when he pulls back.

“I’ll figure something out,” Poe says easily. Then he laughs. “I think Finn was hoping to move somewhere closer to campus.”

“Okay,” Luke murmurs. It’s hard to concentrate with Poe smiling so his laugh lines show, his hands warm even through the cotton of Luke’s shirt, but it's important, so Luke does. “Poe, do you want to move in with me?”

“I really, really do,” Poe says, grinning.

Luke cups the back of Poe’s neck and draws him into a kiss, thorough and eager and earnest, because it’s the best response Luke can think of. Poe seems to appreciate it anyway, all laughter and heat, like he could devote endless hours to covering Luke’s whole body with layered memories of his hands and his kisses and his certainty.

When they’re lying in bed — _their_ bed, soon — Luke sinks into that thought and he can’t help smiling.

“I bet my abuelo’s going to be excited that you study religion when he meets you,” Poe says, absently trailing his fingers up and down Luke’s upper arm.

“Yeah?” Luke asks.

“He’s probably going to want to talk to you about it. You know, my grandparents met because my abuelo wasn’t paying attention crossing the street and almost got in the way of an oncoming car,” Poe says, with a distant, affectionate smile. “He always likes to say that God must have sent that car so that my abuela would look over and laugh, ask if my abuelo was okay.”

“That’s really sweet,” Luke murmurs.

“Yeah,” Poe agrees. “He was always a little disappointed by my total lack of interest in going to church. He’d say that it was a shame my cousins and I couldn’t find time for God, but that God was still keeping the people we loved safe anyway, and the people we didn’t even know we were going to love, who were going to make us laugh.”

“I used to wonder about it a lot, how God’s omnipresence worked. If God was actually always looking out for me. But maybe I was missing the point,” Luke laughs, quietly. “I guess it’s possible that God wanted me to stick around long enough to amuse you with stories of my many embarrassing childhood decisions.”

“Maybe,” Poe says, grinning lazily. “You’re the one who studies this stuff, you tell me.”

“I think,” Luke says, slowly carding his fingers through Poe’s curls, “that a God who wants you laughing is a God I could get behind.”

Poe smiles sleepily and turns to kiss Luke’s wrist. Then Poe sits up briefly, turns off the lamp on his nightstand, and shifts around a bit, tugging gently at Luke until they’re tangled up in each other. Luke smiles a little, his eyelids growing heavy, and presses a soft, tired kiss to Poe’s lips.

“I’m feeling good about this new semester,” Poe mumbles. “I think it’s gonna be a good year.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, feeling himself sinking into sleep. “Me too.”

* * *

> Luke Amidala-Lars, personal letter to Poe Dameron, September 26, 2017.
> 
> “You’re just downstairs as I’m writing this, caught up taking notes on some new biography. But I’ve gotten used to writing to you now and I like the thought that between the two of us, we’ll create years of notes like this. Material and tangible evidence of our lives touching, being wound together.
> 
> Rey and Finn will be here for breakfast tomorrow. We’re making waffles. You always look a little lost in the morning before you’ve had your first cup of coffee, so I thought I should remind you.
> 
> Here’s something else to remember: I love you. I love the way you end up with chalk all over your hands when you’ve been using a blackboard and the sight of your shoulders against my sheets. I love how bright your eyes get when you’re talking about your work and how you kiss me like there’s nothing else on Earth you’d rather be doing. I love you in a way that makes me understand the limits of prose, because I could give you thousands of words in three different languages and it wouldn’t be enough.
> 
> So I’ll just say this: Come to bed. Sleep. Wake up with me tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Virginia Woolf, personal communication to Vita Sackville-West, 1927. You can read the rest of the letter here: https://www.brainpickings.org/2012/01/20/virginia-woolf-vita-sackville-west-love-letter/. [back to the story]
> 
> 2 I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair./Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets./Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day/I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. - Pablo Neruda, “Love Sonnet XI” in _100 Love Sonnets: Cien Sonetas de Amor_ , trans. Stephan Tapscott (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986) 26-7. [back to the story]
> 
> 3 For a collected volume of the Adams’ correspondence, consider reading _My Dearest Friend: Letters of Abigail and John Adams_ , ed. Margaret A. Hogan, C. James Taylor and Joseph J. Ellis. [back to the story]
> 
> 4 Hindi: Happy birthday. [back to the story]
> 
> 5 Hindi: Well done. Thank you very much. [back to the story]
> 
> 6 Mirabai, “The Long Drought Is Over,” trans. John Hawley and Robert Bly, in _Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems_ , ed. Robert Bly and Jane Hirshfield (Boston: Beacon Press, 2004), 50. [back to the story]
> 
> 7 Hindi: So, are you happy? [back to the story]
> 
> 8 Hindi: Today, or in life? [back to the story]


	5. Epilogue

> Aliya Hasan, “The Saga Continues,” _The Atlantic_ , December 2, 2017, 78.
> 
> “In September 2000, Luke Skywalker became a _New York Times_ best-selling author and Luke Amidala-Lars, the man behind the pen name, had to teach Introduction to Buddhism by himself for the first time. In the eighteen years since _Solar Wind, Arbor Rain_ was published, the _Star Wars_ series has gained a cult following. Fans have been clamoring for the fifth book for years, and the day has finally arrived: _Who Walk in Light_ is due out next week — just as Amidala-Lars’ students will have to start gearing up for finals.
> 
> Amidala-Lars’ fifth-floor office in Theed University’s Apailana Hall immediately gave off a sense of controlled chaos. Framed photographs — a high school graduation, his sister’s wedding — were crowded up against postcards of Himalayan mountain ranges and Mayan ruins. Above Amidala-Lars’ desktop computer, flanked on one side by a Tibetan wall-hanging depicting the Buddha and by several pieces of artwork clearly done by children on the other, was a carefully calligraphed and framed quote that read, “At a time when the American university system is under attack as irrelevant or worse, I can only say that it has been for me a redemptive gift.”1
> 
> Amidala-Lars nodded at the quote and said, “My graduate adviser sent me that, after my first year teaching. I like having it there as a reminder.” Then he asked if I would like a cup of tea. It would have to be herbal tea, though. The department’s graduate students had apparently finished off the last of the caffeinated options earlier in the day.”

* * *

It’s a Thursday morning in early October when Luke finalizes the book with his editor.

He’d stumbled out of bed some time after dawn, Poe grumbling and turning over, as a final correct phrasing occurred to him at the last moment.

Luke sits there for a long moment, staring at his computer in surprise. This book had been nearly six years in the making and now it was out of his hands. There's nothing about the day to indicate that something significant has happened — there's only a hint of the fall chill in the morning air, bird calls filtering in through the window — but Luke feels lighter for knowing Maya’s latest adventures will belong to the readers soon. He’ll tell Leia later today when they’re both on campus, inform Rey when they get lunch, see his mother in the evening.

But right now, the person he most wants to know is upstairs, asleep in their bed. And so that’s where Luke heads, cradling his laptop.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Luke says, sitting down on the bed and nudging Poe gently with his knee. “Wake up.”

Poe makes a vague appeasing sound of acknowledgement and just lies there sprawled across the bed, eyes still closed, for a few more seconds.

“I finished the book,” Luke says.

Poe continues lying there for a moment and then suddenly, like what Luke said has finally sunk in, he sits up, blinking sleep away, and squints. “Wait, what?” he says, reaching out to put on his glasses.

Luke settles into the bed next to him. “Final version,” he says, pushing his laptop over to Poe. “Now it’s all pretty much in my editor’s hands.”

“At last,” Poe says, rubbing his hands over his eyes, nearly sliding his glasses back off his face, and then smiling slightly, “the long-awaited moment.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “Look at the dedication page.”

Poe’s expression goes soft and he leans in and kisses the corner of Luke’s mouth.

“You should probably read it before you decide that’s the appropriate reaction,” Luke says.

Poe kisses Luke again, properly this time, nipping at his lower lip briefly before turning to look at Luke’s laptop screen. “ _For Rey, always an inspiring and incisive first reader_ ,” Poe reads. “That’s sweet. _And for Poe, for caring about this story and all the stories behind it_.”

“Too sappy?” Luke asks, looking at Poe.

“Nah,” Poe says, grinning, tangling his fingers in Luke’s and squeezing. “I kind of like it.”

* * *

> Best Sellers List, Trade Fiction, _The New York Times_ , January 6, 2018.
> 
> **3.** **Who Walk In Light** by Luke Skywalker (Endor.) With Maya, the first new Jedi in decades, finally coming into her own and Imperial troops ceding star systems left and right to the growing Rebel Alliance, the tides of the Galactic Civil War have begun to shift. Now the Rebellion prepares to advance on the heart of Imperial territory, and the possibility of peace — and perhaps love — beckons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Clifford Geertz, introduction to _The Interpretation of Cultures_ by Clifford Geertz (New York: Basic Books, 1997), ix. [back to the story]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for "this ocean is yours, and mine"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239937) by [flyakate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyakate/pseuds/flyakate)
  * [Fanart for "this ocean is yours, and mine"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274494) by [saltkettle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltkettle/pseuds/saltkettle)




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